


I Shall Endure

by TokuTenshi



Series: Though the Darkness Comes Upon Me [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst ahead, Established Relationship, F/M, I Shall Weather the Storm, I'm Bad At Tagging, Love, SO MUCH FLUFF, Though the Darkness Comes Upon Me, acting like an old married couple, but then feels, i shall embrace the light, intimacy issues, mage and templar romance, mom and pop gallows, non-inquisitor trevelyan - Freeform, the fluff is a smoke screen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-01-06 02:42:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 68,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12202269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TokuTenshi/pseuds/TokuTenshi
Summary: -Continuation of "I Shall Weather the Storm"-Helping Kirkwall and running the Gallows together for years allows Cullen and Ebrisa to easily find their place with the Inquisition as commander and healer. With their relationship being made so public by the late Divine Justinia, the couple face all sorts of strained reactions from their new peers, but they do their best to ignore what strangers think and focus on each other instead. There are accusations, misunderstandings, and trials - but nothing they can't overcome together.Other volunteers from Kirkwall join the pair in Haven, and for Carver Hawke, his new role is considerably harder to accept.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back, sweetlings!  
> Okay, so, this prologue is short but filled with so many feels you will hardly notice. I'm planning on weekly updates, so real chapters coming soon!

It had started so promising. Divine Justinia V's conclave had barely begun, thousands of people from all walks of life had gathered on the edge of Ferelden at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, once home to Andraste's holy remains. Among the bustle of the crowds, Ebrisa had stayed at Cullen's side with the amassed army, doing what she could to be useful as he directed the volunteers in keeping the peace between the mage and templar groups. There were scuffles here and there, but the majority of attendees were hoping – just as Justinia did – that an end to the war could be brokered.

The lyrium withdraw had started to hit Cullen shortly after reaching the mountains, the frigid air amplifying his aches and pains, but Ebrisa was quick to jump to his side. She'd warm his muscles with a hint of magic, offer him potions and herbal remedies, and cradle his head to her chest when lights caused a searing pain. She had been understandably concerned when he first stopped taking the blue draft, but she recognized that it was something he had to do. She understood he wanted to start a new life away from the Templar Order and asked only that he would let her stay in it and let her help.

She always wanted to help.

Word had made its way through the encampment that someone at the temple had fallen ill, so she volunteered to take a look. Ebrisa took her satchel of supplies and gave Cullen a quick kiss before following a soldier down into the valley. It was like any other day, like any other time someone had requested her aid, and Cullen hadn't given it a second thought. She had a well-trained soldier at her side and the paths were clearly defined from the repeated use of all the visitors. There had been no reason to worry.

Then, it happened.

A deafening crack sounded through the air, like a clap of thunder right in his ear, and Cullen barely turned to it in time to see the temple explode in a ball of light and fire. A powerful shockwave rippled across the valley, knocking people off their feet and blasting blankets of snow over them. By the time Cullen was able to pull himself out of the powder, the sky was split with a sickly green color and the valley below was gone.

They tried to make sense of what happened and hours after the destruction, a team of scouts found someone stumbling from a tear in the air where the temple once stood. The person was immediately rushed to the village of Haven and looked over, hoping to find answers from this one, strange clue.

For days, they remained unresponsive, a glowing scar on their hand matching the one in the sky, growing when it did, thrumming with the same strange magic, and just as much a mystery.

For days, demons slipped out of the rips in the Veil and descended upon the confused survivors. Seeker Cassandra and Cullen acted as quickly as possible to arrange defensive positions around the scattered rifts to keep the demons at bay while others tried to figure out how to be rid of the portals.

For days, Cullen's head throbbed and his bones ached. For days, the casualties climbed. For days, he was never given more than a few moments at a time to grieve.

For days, he was tormented by the memory of Ebrisa walking down into the valley.

For days, he was haunted by the feel of her lips on his.

For days, he cursed himself for ever asking her to leave Kirkwall with him.

The strange coloring of the sky and the constant fighting with Fade creatures made the entire ordeal feel like a hazy dream and truly it had to be a nightmare. How else could he explain the Maker giving him a glimpse of happiness, a taste completion, only for it to be torn away?

“Commander?” A soldier called into the tent, breaking Cullen from his brief moment of solitude. “Sister Leliana has called for a push. Apparently, they want to try something with the prisoner.”

“I'll be right there,” Cullen responded, trying to sound more confident than he was as he rose to his feet. He opened his hand and took one last look at the simple band of metal he had been clutching, swallowing his remorse. For days, he had been wishing Ebrisa was still at his side, and for days, he had been wishing he'd asked her to stay there a long, long time ago.

 


	2. Not Lost

The howling of the wind was muted by the wooden planking of the creaking walls, becoming little more than background noise to the crackling of the small brazier and the groaning of the wounded that pulled Ebrisa from her heavy sleep. She couldn't remember where she was or how she got there, but the chill in her bones and ache in her muscles told her it hadn't been under her own volition. The hut was packed with other people in similar or worse conditions and the enchanter forced herself off the cot and onto her feet, swaying only once before she found her balance.

She remembered... what did she remember? They were at the Conclave and someone was sick... a rumbling... Renata was there, and then... why couldn't she recall anything more concrete than that? Ebrisa shook her head, pushing the hole in her memory away and turning to the unattended patients. She tried to inspect their conditions with magic, but found her mana reserves dangerously low and couldn't focus what little she had into any sort of spell. It was concerning, but this was precisely the reason she had spent so many years learning non-magical healing skills and proceeded to take vitals by hand.

The supplies within the healing cabin weren't entirely sufficient, but she made do and helped the injured get as comfortable as possible. The majority of them were suffering from battle wounds, but there were also cases of frostbite and a few broken bones that required salves and splints she didn't have. Just as she was about to venture outside in search of what she needed, the single door opened and a very tired, very irritated man walked in. He paused, straightening in surprise, then looked back and forth between the empty cot and the woman, taking note of the tended to patients in between.

“You're up and you're a healer? Bloody brilliant, because I'm surely not cut out for at least one of those things.” He walked up to her and grabbed hold of her elbow, tugging her towards the exit. “Name's Adan, and if you'll come with me, there's a patient who's much worse off than this lot.”

Ebrisa had little choice but to follow, snatching up a few bottles of tonics and a bundle of wrapping on the way. “Is the patient contagious? Why aren't they with the others?”

Adan snorted. “Maker, I sure hope not. His condition is... unique, to say the least.”

The moment they stepped out into the cold, a pair of scouts blocked their path. “And just where are you two going?”

“To see our most famous patient,” Adan grumbled. “I told the Lady Seeker that I'm just an alchemist and could only do so much, but this one here is a proper healer. Might be she can do something the rest of us couldn't.”

The scouts looked to each other, wordlessly debating the course of action before nodding their consent to the alchemist and flanking him and the enchanter as they walked through the village. Ebrisa looked around curiously, vaguely recognizing Haven from the few times she and Cullen had visited, but the village had been too bustling to really see properly. They had spent most of the time before the Conclave with the bulk of the Divine's forces at the valley's edge overlooking the Temple of Sacred Ashes, having little need to enter Haven beyond the odd supply run, and it was apparent to the enchanter that something had happened to cause the excitement that used to reverberate through the very walls of the village to quell. Her thoughts turned to Cullen and where he was, then once again to why she was there herself. The encampment in the valley had plenty of healing tents and, considering Adan was a self-proclaimed inexperienced healer, it made no sense for her to be treated here.

As she swiveled her head around to inspect the village, Ebrisa caught sight of the strange green haze in the sky and followed the swirling clouds to a massive, shining shape high in the air that shifted and flexed like a thing alive. She stopped to stare at the oddity, mouth dropping slightly in surprise, but one of the escorts gave her back a firm nudge forward. “Keep moving.”

“What _is_ that?” Ebrisa whispered, somehow managing the soft tone while still being mystified and terrified.

The scout gave her another nudge, much harder this time. “Like you don't already know,” he muttered.

A sizable crowd lingered around a cabin on the other side of the village and instantly broke apart to form a path when they saw the small procession approach. Adan didn't bat an eye at the onlookers, apparently used to their presence, and waved Ebrisa inside after opening the door. It closed with a click of the latch and a sigh from the alchemist. “First this bloke steps out of the damn Fade and sleeps for three days, then does a little hiking to the Breach and sleeps another three. Still not sure what that thing on his hand is, but must be awfully taxing on the poor sod.”

Ebrisa barely heard him, too focused on the patient laying across the small room to catch what little information she was being given. She hurried over to the bed, dumping the contents in her arms to the floor as she knelt on the ground and instantly began checking the patient's temperature, breathing, and pulse. He seemed, from what she could tell without her magic, in fair health and Ebrisa let out a quiet sigh of relief as she brushed the dark hair from his slightly clammy brow. Only then did she turn her attention to the glowing mark on his left hand, frowning at the curious thrum of magic pulsing from the man she knew was no mage.

“Carver, what happened to you?” She leaned in closer, inspecting the condition of the skin around the tear and running her fingers gently along the edge, feeling for inflammation. The light trail of her touch sent a small shudder through Carver's hand and before Ebrisa had a chance to process it, the man jerked awake, smacking her right in the face and staggering her back.

“What's going- Ebrisa? Oh, I am so sorry, I didn't-” Carver stopped mid-sentence, sitting up fully and grabbing her shoulders. “Ebrisa! You're okay!”

“Of course I'm okay,” she mumbled back, rubbing at her slightly sore nose. “You'll have to hit me a lot harder than that if you want to do some damage.”

The former templar shook his head, dispelling the notion, and pulled her into a tight, but awkward embrace which resulted in smashing her face against his torso. “They said... Maker, I have never been happier to have someone prove Varric wrong.” Ebrisa reached up blindly to pat his arm, shifting in his hold until she found space to breathe.

“Don't mean to interrupt,” Adan made a vague circling gesture, “ _whatever this is_ , but Seeker Pentaghast said you needed to go see her in the Chantry as soon as you recovered.”

Carver released the enchanter quickly, only just noticing the other man in the room, and barely managed to restrain the embarrassed flush on his cheeks. “Let me guess: it didn't work.”

Adan motioned towards the door. “Smart man.”

“You'd be the first to think so,” the warrior grumbled, pushing off the straw mattress and rising to his feet. He took a step towards the door, then turned around and placed a warm hand on Ebrisa's shoulder. “I'm really glad Varric was wrong.” Without explaining what the dwarf had been wrong about, Carver left the cabin and began an uneasy walk through the still gathered people outside. They scurried out of his way quickly, murmuring to each other as he passed and some even followed the warrior at a distance, leaving Ebrisa with even more questions.

She joined Adan in the doorway and watched the crowd slowly disperse, catching bits and pieces of their revered whispers but still not understanding what was going on in the least. A small commotion caught her attention and she turned in time to see Cullen roughly push past the meandering people in his way. His hair was mussed and stubble more pronounced than he usually allowed it to get, there were bags and creases around his eyes, and his frame seemed shorter – as though pushed down by some invisible weight. He looked... terrible, like he had aged ten years in a span of... how long had it been since she'd seen him?

Ebrisa smiled warmly when he caught her gaze, the action freezing him in place. “Cullen.” With that single utterance of his name, the man broke from his trance and rushed over to her, sweeping her up in his arms and holding her desperately tight, effectively squeezing all the air from Ebrisa's lungs and not even leaving her enough to squeak in surprise. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, taking deep, shuddering breaths as he began to tremble.

“Are you real?” Cullen's voice was hoarse and desperate. “Please, _please_ be real.”

Her arms were pinned to her side, but Ebrisa managed to lift a hand and place it against Cullen's cuirass, hoping he would be able to feel the weight of her touch through the armor. “I'm real,” she soothed, uncertain what had happened, but knowing Cullen needed her reassurance.

He set her down and pulled back only enough to see her face, searching it for any flaw or flicker of deceit, ultimately releasing a breathless laugh in relief when he found none. Cullen cupped her face and pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes against the impending tears. “When Varric said he saw you, I was almost too trapped in my grief to hope it could be true. Don't ever leave me like that again, Ebrisa, _please_. Swear you won't.”

Something terrible had happened, that much was clear, and though Ebrisa didn't know what it was or how she had worried Cullen so, the woman felt she could only comply with his heartfelt request. Placing a hand gently over his, Ebrisa gave his head a loving bump. “I swear.”

Now that Cullen was somewhat calmed, Ebrisa began arranging the long list of questions in her mind by importance, but the escorts that had walked her from the healing cabin chose that time to break their silence and the tender moment.

“Pardon, Commander,” one of the scouts said firmly, but respectfully. “Now that she's awake, we need to take the prisoner to the dungeons for questioning.”

Cullen tensed, all the lethargic movements replaced with fierce action as he pulled Ebrisa behind him and scowled at the scouts. “The fuck you will,” he growled, hand inching towards his sword pommel. Ebrisa wasn't sure what shocked her more – the mention of the dungeons, or Cullen's language.

The first hooded figure cast a look at the second before trying once again. “We are under order by Sister Nightingale, ser.”

“Well I'm ordering you to leave Ebrisa alone and get out of my sight.” He tightened his grip on his weapon, sliding it just barely out of its sheath. “Before I make you.”

He was really going to fight them, people serving the same cause he had sworn himself to, and that single act would jeopardize his position and reputation. Ebrisa frantically tugged on Cullen's arm, begging him wordlessly to stop. “It's alright. I'll go with them so they can ask their questions.” He turned to her with a look that was part incredulous and part heartbroken, weakening her already frail resolve as she stepped around him. “I'm not leaving you, Cullen. I'll be back before you know it.” She hoped both of those things were true, as the idea of causing him further pain ached like a knife in her heart.

The scouts waved her forward towards the Chantry, giving her some courtesy by not grabbing her arm and dragging her away. Her first few steps were tentative, but once she was flanked by the hooded figures again, that uneasy feeling thickened into nausea. She hadn't done anything wrong, so far as she could remember, but there was the chance that in the holes of her memory Renata had. Could she explain that the spirit of her aunt was only trying to keep her safe, or would it come off as a flimsy excuse for uncontrolled actions?  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
It was difficult to tell how much time had passed in the quiet gloom of the dungeon, but Ebrisa reasoned it had to have been at least half an hour. After leading her to the center of the damp room and chaining her hands to bolted rings in the floor, the men were replaced with five others. Four hooded figures took up positions around her, poising their weapons in a low, but threatening manner. The fifth man was a templar, unknown to Ebrisa personally, but still very much recognizable, and his looming presence did more to keep the enchanter still than the swords pointed mere inches away.

She tried to ask them questions, hoping for some explanation to what was going on, but no answers came. They didn't try to quiet her, however, and Ebrisa soon realized they were waiting to see if she would incriminate herself or provide information they didn't already have. She joined them in their silence and their waiting, willing the interrogation to get underway so she could finally return to Cullen.

The door swung open and in strode the person Ebrisa could only assume was Sister Nightingale, her steps noiseless despite the echoing nature of the cavernous room. The woman cast her eyes across the guards and gave a small nod, commanding them without words to sheath their weapons and step back, giving her room to work. She approached Ebrisa's kneeling form, circling a few times before stopping in front of her and finally addressing the prisoner. “First Enchanter Ebrisa Trevelyan of Kirkwall, I have a few questions for you.”

Ebrisa had no choice but to look up at the woman towering over her, the angle making herself feel small and powerless, which was likely the point. “Though I am a little put off by our surroundings, there's no reason we can't be civil. Do proceed with your questions.”

The hooded woman's lip curled slightly in amusement. “Indeed not, and I see your reputation for politeness was not an exaggeration. How fortunate.” She set her hands behind her back and stepped away a few paces, giving Ebrisa's neck a rest. “Let us start with the basics. Why did you come to Divine Justinia's conclave?”

“To be honest, the past few conclaves involving mages haven't turned out so well and I held little hope of this one being any different.” Ebrisa paused, watching Sister Nightingale tilt her head in a mild concession. “But Cullen was recruited and he believed something good could come out of all this, that some progress could actually be made, and he asked me to join him. I knew it was likely dangerous, but I would follow that man into the Void itself without question.”

“Because you are a good little mage, obedient in all things, and he a fierce templar?”

Ebrisa frowned at the comment, hearing it for the belittling remark it was. “Because he is a man who has suffered much, yet fights to remain himself. Because he has seen the worst in people, but still thinks there can be good in them too. Because I love him and don't ever want to be separated from his side.” She set back her shoulders and sat up a little straighter, trying to look as dignified as possible with manacles weighing her arms against the dirty floor. “Whatever it is you think I did, I can assure you that Cullen was in no way involved.”

“Do not concern yourself with Commander Cullen.”

“I will always concern myself with Cullen.”

The hooded woman brought a hand to her mouth and muffled a quiet chuckle. “Of _that,_ at least, I have no doubt.”

Over the next hour, Ebrisa was asked the same questions over and over, as if hearing the prompt a fourth time might elicit a different response than the second or third. From this repetitive, circular conversation, Ebrisa found the answers to many of her own questions.

The Divine's conclave had been attacked and destroyed, the Veil tearing open as a result and forming the green gash in the sky known not-quite-so fondly as _The Breach_. Justinia herself was dead, as were thousands of others from both sides of the conflict, and Carver had been the only survivor of the explosion – until she was discovered, of course. Ebrisa agreed it was strange for her to be the only person wandering around the mining caves so close to the blast site, but she tried to fill the holes in her memory with past experiences and her unwavering answers were apparently not what Sister Nightingale wanted to hear.

Ebrisa reasoned that Renata had acted on her behalf and shielded her from, if not the blast itself, then the ensuing avalanche in the very least. Her aunt's spirit had a certain affinity for fire and the magical blaze could have created enough of a buffer until Ebrisa found shelter in the old tunnels. She couldn't remember the explosion or how she ended up in the icy caverns, but she was certain Renata had been pivotal to her survival.

Before the questions began all over again, Cullen and Cassandra entered the room. The seeker began arguing with Sister Nightingale in hushed tones immediately and Cullen went straight to Ebrisa, snapping at one of the hooded men for the keys. The scout looked to his leader uneasily and after receiving a curt nod from the woman, unlocked the manacles and stepped away.

“Let's get you out of here,” Cullen whispered, smiling gently before pressing a soft kiss to the enchanter's forehead. He pulled her to her feet, but her prolonged kneeling and sitting on the hard floor made her legs wobble and she stumbled against him on the first step. Cullen cast a quick glare behind him at the still conversing women, then returned his focus to Ebrisa and scooped her up in his arms, proceeding to carry her from the lower levels of the Chantry bridal style.

Ebrisa squeaked in surprise and flushed in embarrassment, her stuttering protests falling on deaf ears. When they stepped outside into the cold, she closed her eyes and curled herself against his chest to hide from curious onlookers and remained that way until she heard the rustling of heavy fabric. She lifted her head and looked around, recognizing Cullen's things and realizing they were in his tent. It struck her as odd that they could have gotten there so quickly, but then she remembered what she'd learned about the valley and pulling the forces closer to the new base of operations didn't seem so strange anymore.

He moved past the shoddy table he had claimed as a desk and through the opening of the linen sheet that acted as a sort of partition, blocking his sleeping area from his work space. There was only room for a small pallet on this side of the divider, but Cullen had little use for frivolous luxuries and spent most of this time in the _office_ section of his tent anyways. The pallet was covered in blankets and furs – a very Fereldan approach to camping – and Cullen deposited Ebrisa on top of the soft pile as carefully as possible before kneeling on the canvas that lined the floor.

He took hold of her hands, turning them over to examine the redness at her wrists. “Forgive me for not coming for you sooner. I tried, but...”

“Cullen, I'm alright,” she soothed. “They didn't hurt me.”

The commander kissed one of the small welts in a wordless rebuttal. “I thought you were dead,” he finally admitted, voice hoarse with the memory of his grief. “I thought I lost you, but you were here. You were here, and they _knew_ , and they didn't tell me.”

“They?”

“Leliana and Lady Cassandra. Perhaps even Lady Montilyet.” Cullen shook his head, pushing away his anger before it took hold of him again. “But I don't want to think about that; I just want to hold you. I need to know this is real and not another cruel dream that will rip you from my arms when I wake.”

Ebrisa slipped her hands from his grip and the action triggered a look of utter heartbreak across the man's face that Ebrisa was quick to try and ease. She trailed her fingers through his unkempt hair and down his cheeks across the growing stubble, smiling as he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch with longing whimpers slipping from his throat. “I'm real,” she whispered against his lips before erasing the space between them and kissing him gently.

He returned the kiss tentatively, as though tricked before and hesitant to believe this time, but as the familiar contours of Ebrisa's lips moved against his own Cullen finally accepted the truth and did so with great relish. The gentle kiss did not stay that way long, Cullen urging her mouth open with nips of his teeth and sweeping his tongue inside as soon as he was granted access. He buried one hand in her hair, cradling Ebrisa's head as he guided her down and climbed onto the pallet himself, all the while drinking in the muffled gasps and moans seeping from her.

She grabbed at fistfuls of his fur mantle when he broke away, trying to pull him back, but forgot about her task entirely when his wandering lips settled on her neck. A noise she didn't even know she could make reverberated from her throat, making Cullen groan in appreciation and redouble his efforts, unclasping her collar to free more skin for his mouth to explore.

Ebrisa felt hot and tingly, like the aftershocks of casting a lightning spell, and for a brief moment she worried that she had done just that. Cullen's continued attentions erased all concern from her mind and she let herself give in to the sensations he was stirring in her, wondering if it felt the same for him. His hand caressed her side as he shifted his position on top of her and returned to her mouth with an absolutely burning kiss.

“Commander?”

Cullen's hand continued down her thigh to the bunched up hem of her tattered robes, slipping beneath the fabric to trail his fingers directly on her soft skin and leaving trembling waves of pleasure in their wake.

“Commander.”

Ebrisa shivered, uncertain if she should allow this to continue much farther. Cullen's intentions were clear, and though they had been together for some time, they had still not been truly intimate. Each time she thought she was ready, Ebrisa would stop before things became too heated and tear up, apologizing profusely to Cullen that she couldn't give him what he needed. Maybe this time she could do it. Maybe, with all the emotional weight to the situation, with Cullen's desperate need to feel her, she could get past that mental barrier and finally give herself fully to the man she loved.

“Oy, _Cullen_!” A very tired Rylen called through the tent flaps, burr thickened with annoyance. “I hate to be the barer of bad news, but the recruits have been standing at attention waiting for instruction so long that I think they might start to ice over.”

Cullen reddened immediately, partly from anger at being interrupted and partly for what he had been interrupted from. “I – um – I'll be right there,” he called back over his shoulder. A moment or two passed as he waited for the sound of departing footsteps, then Cullen returned his focus to the panting, disheveled woman beneath him. He restrained a groan and seared the image into his memory before dipping down once again and pressing his forehead to Ebrisa's. “At least I know this isn't a dream. Only reality would be so cruel.”

Ebrisa reached up a hand and caressed his cheek lovingly. “I told you I was real.”

He chuckled softly and pulled away, climbing off the pallet and straightening his clothing. “And I should know better by now than to ever doubt you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you guys I had plans for baby bro! I mean, if this is an au of my first work, then might as well make as many changes as possible, right?  
> Also, as hinted at by the last scene, this story is going to be more adult than what I've produced before. There will be fluff, there will be humor, but there will also be mature issues and... uh... eventually some nsfw stuff. Those chapters will be marked and I apologize if the idea puts anyone off, but for Cullen and Ebrisa to grow, I need to grow as well.  
> I've got a beta who is helping me with that, so I hope the story progresses smoothly for you all. Check out her spicy works:  
> [ZuleFandom](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ZuleFandom/pseuds/ZuleFandom)


	3. Together

She didn't mean to be nosy, but Ebrisa could only sit on her hands for so long before going crazy and after a respectable amount of time, the woman explored Cullen's tent. She'd been in it several times prior to – well, _everything_ – and she found that it remained set up much the same as it had been in the old location. Cullen was a meticulous and orderly man and she knew full well that the structure of both his office and day had a calming effect on him. More than once, she'd witnessed him pull out a stack of reports when the lyrium withdrawal was getting to him and arrange them in various orders – alphabetical by topic, geographical by distance, rank of importance – all in the name of _efficiency_. It wasn't, and both of them knew that, but Ebrisa played along because she understood that the action of creating order with his hands helped Cullen do the same in his mind.

There was a footlocker by Cullen's desk she had not seen before that was surprisingly clear of maps and missives and only then did she notice the modest chest that housed the commander's personal effects was missing. Ebrisa knelt down by the new addition curiously, taking the open latches as a sort of invitation, and felt only slightly mischievous as she opened the lid. Inside were Cullen's meager possessions, neatly stacked as they always had been, but beside them were her own.

The small field notebooks were waterlogged and warped, some pages no longer legible, but the leather bound grimoires were sturdy enough to survive whatever it was that claimed the thinner books. Beneath them were her robes, dirty and torn – ruined – but lovingly folded all the same. She pulled out her old first enchanter uniform, running her fingers over the sunburst embroidery as more of Leliana's questions came running back to her.

Two vicious attacks on the Chantry that destroyed a sacred building and killed religious figures and innocents in a blinding explosion, and Ebrisa had been present at both. Anders had acted alone in Kirkwall, she knew that now, and while Ebrisa could not help but feel ashamed for turning on her peers so quickly, she could relay everything about that night to her interrogator. A night she had fallen into despair, a night she had given up on everything, a night stained with more innocent blood than it should have been, a night she wished she could forget forever – she told the story of that night perfectly. Ebrisa knew she was not responsible for either attack against the Chantry – that she had no hand in the deaths of Mother Elthina or Divine Justinia – even if the latter occurred during a hole in her memory.

Still, at least a few people in Haven besides the Kirkwall templars knew who she was and until the true culprits could be found, she was likely to remain under suspicion. It would not take long for others to connect the acts of terrorism like Leliana had and even less for hushed words to spread through the village, marking her as untrustworthy. Ebrisa couldn't spend her days hiding away and relying on Cullen for protection; she had to earn back the people's trust.

“The aftershock hit camp pretty hard,” Cullen said softly behind her, alerting Ebrisa that he had come back and making her wonder how long he'd been watching her. “There was so much chaos with the demons, so much needing immediate attention, that there wasn't time to dig belongings out of the snow until Carver stopped the Breach from growing.” He took a knee beside her, setting a parcel on the floor. “I couldn't find you, but I thought that if I found your things... I don't know. A part of you would still be with me?”

“Cullen...” Ebrisa laid a gentle hand on his cheek, lightly urging his head to turn and face her. There was such pain in his eyes, such loss, and she knew it would not go away any time soon. Yes, she was alive and with him, but that did not erase the heartache he endured in her absence right away. It would take time for him to bury the memory, and Ebrisa vowed to give him so many new, happy ones that the pain never crept to the surface again. “Thank you for finding them. There are a lot of useful healing techniques in my grimoires that I will no doubt need to use very soon.”

That snapped Cullen back to the present almost as much as her touch. “Soon? Are you injured after all?”

“No, love, but I will need to get back to work and contribute once again.” She felt his disapproval through the tension in his body as much as she saw it in the narrowing of his eyes. Before he had a chance to voice it, Ebrisa continued. “We have lost more than the Divine and soldiers, Cullen. Competent healers are in short supply and ones that _want_ to do it even more so. I can help heal, and if people see me working towards the betterment of the group, maybe they will be more open to my freedom and less keen on putting me back in that dungeon.”

She felt his resignation through the shifting of his jaw as much as she saw it in the lowering of his eyes. Before he even had a chance to voice it, Ebrisa knew she'd won. “I would prefer to keep you either at my side or in the relative safety of my tent, but it does appear idle hands do not suit you. Very well, you can speak with Lady Montilyet for assignment. Tomorrow.”

“Oh?” Ebrisa dropped her hand and grinned playfully. “Did it sound as though I was asking for consent? I was not aware I needed your permission, Commander.”

Cullen grinned back, picking up the wrapped bundle from the floor. “While it is not required, it would behoove you to heed me at least a little, Enchanter.” He handed the package over, expression becoming a little sheepish. “I, um, got you something new to wear. Seggrit doesn't carry anything in way of mage robes and the blighter gave me the hardest time for buying women's clothing. There weren't a lot of options and I didn't know what you would like, so...” He trailed off, having grown more and more embarrassed as he went. Seggrit must have given him a _very_ hard time about it.

Ebrisa plucked at the twine that kept the articles of clothing together, chewing lightly on her lip as she held up each piece excitedly. It had been well over a decade since she'd worn anything other than robes, having spent half her life in Circles, and the prospect of being dressed as a normal woman filled her with a giddiness she couldn't quite explain. There were several pieces very Fereldan in both their colors and construction, intended to be worn in layers for warmth, but in the collection, hiding in a rather soft chemise no doubt intended for sleeping, was a set of small clothes.

The woman blushed furiously and folded the underdress back over the breastband and smalls, knowing without looking that Cullen was just as red as her, if not more so. It was certainly a needed purchase, as she couldn't be expected to use only the set she had on moving forward, but the idea that Cullen had bought her intimates – practical, cotton, plain intimates, but still – had a strange fluttering overtake her stomach. It was such a personal purchase and she could just imagine Cullen focusing on the rationality of it to get him through the transaction while his cheeks turned scarlet. The poor, sweet, dear man.

Ebrisa tried to find something to say to dispel the building awkwardness in the air before one of them burst a blood vessel and her eyes settled on the chemise once again. “I... I need to arrange for quarters of some kind. It wouldn't do for the unmarried commander to keep a woman in his tent – especially since it is mainly his office.”

“Ri-right. Of course.” Cullen rubbed at his neck, still unable to meet her eyes. “That would be Lady Montilyet's jurisdiction, once again. When you speak to her tomorrow about helping out, you can request lodgings as well.”

“Tomorrow?” Ebrisa repeated softly. “But where will I sleep tonight?”

Cullen cleared his throat and studied the roof of his tent far longer than needed before answering. “Well, I was hoping you would stay here.”

“ _Here_?” She squeaked, her mind going back to their earlier interaction on Cullen's pallet.

As though he could see her thoughts, the man quickly explained himself. “I promise I won't try anything, I just want to know you're safe before I fall asleep and I... I need to be able to see you the moment I wake up to make sure this isn't an illusion.” He looked away before she could see the pain and fear in his eyes, doing his best to school the expression. “But you're right – that would be inappropriate. Perhaps we can squeeze you in somewhere else? I'm certain Marian wouldn't mind sharing for a night.”

It was obvious that Cullen would get little rest if Ebrisa wasn't there and spend the entire night worrying that it would all slip away come sunrise, and it made Ebrisa wonder just how many dreams he had that played out that exact scenario. She swallowed her nerves, knowing Cullen would keep his word, and offered him a timid smile. “Do you think I could wash up? I wouldn't want to track whatever it is I'm covered in all over your bedding.”

He snapped his head back to her, surprise quickly overtaken by relief. “That, I can do.”

Cullen brought her a cloth and small wash basin with what _had_ been warm water later that night so Ebrisa could clean herself up and gave her the entire tent for privacy while she did so. It was an awkward process, but one she had become familiar with since leaving Kirkwall, and the woman did it as quickly as possible to keep the chill air from seeping too far into her bones. Normally, she would start with her hair, but its knotted state and her lack of soaps made her focus on her body instead. Despite the devastation she had been in the middle of, Ebrisa was surprised to discover she had no new injuries – or at least ones that wouldn't have healed the near week she was missing. Renata came to mind once again and the mage told herself the first thing she needed to do when she entered the Fade was seek out her aunt for some answers.

The water was murky when she finished, the concentrated dirt and soot making Ebrisa feel she was more a mess than she had originally thought. After changing into her new smalls and chemise, she carefully carried the basin out of the tent to dump it and was so focused on being rid of the remnants of her meager bath that she almost walked right into Cullen and likely would have gotten at least one of them wet.

“You didn't have to come outside,” Cullen said in a low tone as he took the basin from her, hoping to not draw attention to the woman in the nightdress that hugged her form a lot more than he thought it would.

“I didn't know you were out here and I was concerned I might knock it over if I left it inside.” Ebrisa paused, eying the man with feigned skepticism. “Why _are_ you out here?”

Cullen took a few steps away and dumped the wash water onto the ground, kicking a bit of snow around to blend it. “I'm near constantly receiving reports and missives of some sort and recruits have not been bothering to announce themselves before entering my tent.”

A soft giggle escaped from between Ebrisa's fingers, her hand being unsuccessful in muffling the sound. “My brave knight, are you saying you were standing guard over my modesty?”

He returned her tease with a smirk. “Naturally, dear lady. What sort of protector would I be if I didn't defend you from the wandering, immoral eyes of lechers?” As though merely mentioning them might summon some such people, Cullen began ushering Ebrisa inside.

“Gracious. I was not aware the Inquisition was filled with so many unscrupulous individuals,” Ebrisa gasped as she stepped into the tent. “I shall have to have a word with their superior officer.”

“I assure you, good woman, he is already well aware and taking steps to correct such behavior.”

She nodded, accepting the answer. “I won't bother him then. I'm certain he's a very busy man and I wouldn't want to distract him from his duties.”

Cullen trailed the knuckles of his free hand up and down her cheek, smiling fondly and putting an end to the banter. “A visit from you is never a bother nor a distraction; you are always a welcomed sight.”

The woman blushed and looked away, fingers instinctively flying to her hair in an attempt to soothe the mess she knew it was. “You have a habit of complimenting me when I look my worst.”

“Perhaps its because your worst is still far lovelier than anyone else's best.” He took a gentle hold of her chin and turned her to look at him again. “Or maybe its because your best leaves me bereft of words entirely.” He chuckled at her increased blushing and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “But if you insist, I'll try to scrounge up a brush. I'd offer mine, but its rather coated in pomade.”

The merchants had already closed up shop for the night, but Cullen was able to borrow a brush from the bard in the tavern and returned to his tent with some food and only a mild trace of lingering embarrassment. He had just the one chair at his desk, so Ebrisa perched herself on the footlocker that housed their belongings as they ate the small meal. She hadn't realized how hungry she truly was until the first bite passed her lips and from then on she struggled to maintain her table manners. If Cullen noticed her almost ravenous behavior, he didn't say anything.

When the food was gone, they stayed where they were – Cullen going over paperwork and Ebrisa trying her best to tame the frizzy, tangled strands. They said nothing, both going about their tasks silently, but periodically Cullen would glance up from his papers and smile faintly at the preoccupied woman. She didn't catch him until she'd freed her hair of knots, fingers working the poofed out locks into a braid. “Something wrong?”

His hand rested high on his thigh, over his pocket, and the faint smile grew into a full on grin. “Not at all. I was just struck with how... _right_ this feels.”

“What do you mean?”

“Being with you. Things seem easier when you're around, like any task – no matter how daunting – can be accomplished when you're at my side.” He straightened and turned to face Ebrisa fully, expression going serious. “I love you. You know that, don't you?”

Ebrisa, of course, already knew this vital piece of information, but that didn't stop the flush across her skin or diminish the smile that graced her lips each time she heard those three little words. “I may have had my suspicions,” she whispered back, her throat still tight from the declaration.

The commander chuckled and ducked his head, eyes falling once again on the scouting reports and training schedules, and the papers seemed to drain all of his mirth and levity. He was quiet for several moments, fighting with himself and trying to determine to best course of action. Ultimately, his duty won out and Cullen placed both hands on his desk, keeping his gaze fixed on all the things that needed so much of his focus these days.

His sudden silence and abandonment of his original train of thought had Ebrisa more than a little concerned. “Cullen?”

“I won't lose you again,” he finally responded, still not looking up. “I'll keep you safe – keep everyone safe – and once the Inquisition has restored order...” Cullen closed his eyes and let out a slow, steadying breath. When he opened them again, the man bypassed his desk and focused solely on Ebrisa. “It's late. Might we try to get some rest?”

She nodded slowly while tying off her braid, wishing she knew where the conversation had been heading before reality seemingly set in. The two of them worked in tandem to remove Cullen's armor, a task she had assisted with numerous times before, but it felt no less intimate than the first time she'd unbuckled a cuirass strap. Ebrisa tried not to think about what happened each time they had decided to spend the night together previously, about how her embarrassment and frustration at not being able to commit to the act had her fleeing back to her own quarters and unable to look anyone in the eye for at least half a day, because this wasn't going to be like that at all.

Cullen took care of his shirt and boots himself, stripping the rest of the way to his breeches while Ebrisa awkwardly moved the furs and blankets aside as though she were turning down a proper bed. The pallet was small and obviously intended for only a single occupant, which meant the two of them would have to get very close if they wanted to be comfortable. She trusted Cullen that he wouldn't take advantage of the situation or do anything she didn't want, but that didn't stop the images of such acts from racing through her head.

“Do you have a preference of side?” Cullen asked softly, rubbing at the stiffness in his neck. “The divider doesn't close all the way and there's a draft by the tent wall... both options have their downfalls.”

“Oh, um, no,” she mumbled, taking a step away from the pallet to allow Cullen better access. “It's your bed, I'm just a guest in it.”

A forced chuckle was her only reply before the man climbed to the farther end and settled on his side, back facing the fabric wall in an obvious attempt to shield Ebrisa from any blasts of cold air that would find their way into the tent that night. She took one step forward, then went back through the rest of the tent and extinguished all the candles and lamps before returning to the pallet. Ebrisa found her way in the sudden darkness and blindly climbed onto the very edge of the padding, careful to not push Cullen off the side.

“Do you have enough room?” She asked while laying down and tugging the layers up to her chin.

“I'm alright.” Cullen shifted forward a little now that she was settled. “What about you? Are you comfortable?”

She tried to calm her racing heart and form a reply, but even though they weren't touching, the heat radiating from Cullen's body was enough to remind her of just how close they were. She loved his warmth, cherished his caress, and the idea of falling asleep in Cullen's arms, of hearing his heartbeat and steady breathing, was a beautiful one.

“I'm afraid not,” Ebrisa finally managed.

“Oh, sorry, I think I can...” He raised himself up on an elbow and made to scoot back again, and Ebrisa took the opportunity to slide forward on her side until she was flush against his chest. Cullen's breath hitched a little in surprise, but he quickly recovered and slipped an arm under her neck before settling back onto his side. He wrapped his other arm around her middle and tucked her head beneath his chin, releasing a deep, contented sigh that he didn't even try to mask.

“Much more comfortable,” she murmured against his skin, part of her feeling embarrassed, but the majority overwhelmed with the comforting warmth she'd always associated with Cullen. It was him that voiced his need to be close to her, him that was strong enough to admit his fears, but Ebrisa realized she was just as desperate. She tried to be brave about her precarious situation with the Inquisition and village so that Cullen wouldn't worry more than he already was, but she was terrified what the next few days in Haven would bring. She needed this extra reassurance that someone was on her side, that someone would fight for her, before she strode into the Chantry – the very building she had been held prisoner in – and asked a stranger to trust her with the well-being of their organization.

She slipped her untrapped arm over Cullen's hip and drew slow, lazy circles along his exposed skin with the barest pressure from her fingertips. He shivered a little in response, tightening his embrace and nuzzling the top of her head. Yes, with Cullen here, she was safe.

“Good night, Ebrisa,” he mumbled into her hair, hand trailing up and down her arm soothingly.

Drowsiness overcame Ebrisa almost instantly and her body grew heavy, sinking into Cullen's touch and fluttering her eyes closed. “Good night, love.” No sooner had she whispered the words than everything faded away. Everything, save the comforting sound of Cullen's beating heart.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is how my husband normally cuddles me to prevent his arm from falling asleep, and I really wanted Cullen and Ebrisa to be mega cute after all the crap they just went through.
> 
> Originally I had Ebrisa and Cullen being all nervous, but my lovely beta pointed out that they really shouldn't be shy around each other at this point in their relationship and she was super right. I think this version is considerably better then what I had before.  
> It helps that [Zulefandom](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ZuleFandom/pseuds/ZuleFandom) is so much like me, as she understands what I'm trying to do and steer me in the right direction.


	4. To Work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was heavily beta-ed by Zulefandom. If you think we make a good match, then check out her piece where we switch roles and I beta her.  
> [Into Darkness, Unafraid](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11695659/chapters/26332074)
> 
> And today is my actual husband's actual birthday, so happy birthday, love!

 

The night in Cullen's tent did not stay as peaceful as it started. He twisted and muttered in his sleep, sometimes frightened and sometimes angry, and each break in the quiet woke Ebrisa from her own uneasy slumber. She knew that Cullen had nightmares and that they were becoming more vivid as the lyrium worked its way out of his system, but seeing the scowl on his sweat-drenched brow and hearing his one-sided conversations with the monsters in his mind was something she was not prepared for.

A particularly intense dream had Cullen thrash about violently and break from Ebrisa's embrace, shoving her away and off the side of the pallet. She awoke just before hitting the ground and sat up quickly to see if Cullen had done the same, concern setting in when she discovered he hadn't. The other nightmares had dissolved into obscurity relatively quickly, but this one seemed to only build and she worried what that meant. Was a demon gaining foothold? How did nightmares work when someone was so close to the Breach?

“Cullen?” Ebrisa called out softly, hoping to rouse him. His growled response wasn't for her and she climbed onto the pallet to try again. “Cullen, you're having a nightmare.” She shook his arm, earning a blind swipe with the back of his hand that she barely managed to evade. Ebrisa had no personal experience with nightmares – something else she attributed to her aunt – and the only person she had witnessed having fits in their sleep was the elven child she looked after in the Circle...

An idea took form in her mind and Ebrisa lay beside Cullen once again, shushing softly as she took a firm hold of his shoulder and turned him over until his head rested on her chest. Under any other circumstance, the woman would be a blushing mess and embarrassed beyond all reason, but this act was solely about comforting a suffering dreamer. The hand that guided Cullen over slipped into his hair while the other rested on his back, trying to still his attempts at fighting her off. Slowly, softly, Ebrisa began to sing the song she had always used for Vemara... and had only used for Vemara.

Her fingers trailed up and down his back as the Dalish tune filled the tent and Cullen began to still. The tension left him as she went further and further into the lullaby and eventually his arm looped around her waist and leg hooked her own. Cullen nuzzled her like a small child would snuggle a beloved stuffed toy and the action only made Ebrisa smile.

“ _My voice you can follow; I will always call you home_.” She tilted her head and fondly kissed the commander's tousled hair. “ _I will always call you home_.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
When morning came, Ebrisa awoke to find Cullen looking at her with such open adoration she could practically feel her heart swell in her chest. He had been up for some time and gotten ready as he used to with a shave and slicked back hair, but was hesitant to leave the tent and sat on the edge of the pallet in full armor, watching her sleep until the very last possible moment. She smiled sheepishly and rubbed at her eyes, wondering how far back he pushed his schedule to observe her. “Good morning,” Ebrisa whispered, voice soft from sleep.

He kissed her gently on the lips, pulling away slowly. “The best one in a very long time.”

The woman sat up, following after Cullen's warmth, and held the covers to her chest to keep out the chill morning air. Judging from the light peaking through the gaps in the tent walls, it was well past dawn already and if Cullen's schedule remained even a little the same as it was before the forming of the Inquisition, then he should have been outside a while ago. “You're running rather late today, aren't you?”

The commander cupped one of her cheeks and placed soft, chaste kisses across the other, mapping her familiar face with his loving touch. “I had a far more important matter to attend to this morning,” he murmured against her skin.

“I appreciate being your top priority today,” she giggled softly. He pulled away, dropping his hand from her cheek, and Ebrisa feared she had said something to offend or hurt him.

“Every day,” he corrected, expression holding none of her own initial humor. “You will always be the most important thing to me, Ebrisa.” She was rendered speechless and in the void her reply should have filled, Cullen mulled over his words and tensed slightly. “Not that I think of you as a _thing_ or a possession! I didn't – that is – I wanted to get across that there is no duty, mission, object, or person that I hold above you. I suppose I could have phrased that better, but in the moment, I-”

She cut him off with a kiss that was far more demanding than what he had given her that morning. The nervous rambling flew from Cullen's mind as her lips moved against his own and he instantly returned the action, swallowing her quiet moan as he slipped his tongue into her mouth. He needed her closer and wrapped his arms around her small frame, pulling her firmly into his lap as the tent grew hotter.

Just as his armor was becoming an unyielding, unwanted barrier between them, a rush of cold air blew across his heated skin as someone entered the tent. “I've done what I can, but its high time the commander actually issued some commands today,” Rylen sighed, annoyance thickening his accent. The Starkhaven man paused, staring at the couple through the gap in the partition, and his earlier frown twisted into a knowing smirk. “ _Oh_ , well that certainly explains it.”

Cullen felt Ebrisa tense as her mortification set in and he directed his focus back to her, his own embarrassment forgotten in favor of calming hers. When he pulled her into his lap, she'd slipped a knee on either side, straddling him, and her chemise was bunched up between them. Ebrisa's slender legs were entirely exposed, her milky skin a stark contrast to his dark leather trousers, and it was only the realization that Rylen had just as good a view of the woman that kept Cullen from making a groan of appreciation.

“I know there aren't really doorknobs to hang socks on, but surely we can devise some sort of signal for when you're _indisposed._ ” Rylen chuckled as the couple grew red, unsure if Cullen's flare was from embarrassment or anger.

“Rylen,” the commander warned while pulling at the covers to shield Ebrisa's immodesty from sight.

That was not nearly enough to stop the dark-haired man from continuing. “Hows about you put an empty lantern outside?” He shook his head, vetoing his own suggestion. “Naw, someone would just take it, and then you'd be down a lantern.”

“Rylen,” Cullen snapped, anger now obvious. “I get it, alright? Just give me a minute and I shall join you outside.”

“I'll bet you're getting it, and it only takes you a minute? Most templars I know have incredible stamina.”

“ _Rylen_!”

“Fine, fine, out I go.”

When the blushing pair were alone once again, Ebrisa carefully extracted herself from the heap of furs Cullen had hastily piled on her and settled herself on the middle of the pallet. As much as Rylen had teased them – or, more specifically, Cullen – she knew he would not go around spreading gossip about what he'd seen. The man was a friend to both of them and if he didn't tell any templars back in Kirkwall that their first enchanter didn't use the title _knight-captain_ any more because, in her heart, it belonged only to Cullen, then he wouldn't go blab that those same two people were intimately embracing.

“I guess I really do have to go now,” Cullen mumbled, telling himself just as much as her.

“The day awaits, I'm afraid,” she mumbled back.

He turned to her again and trailed his knuckles down her cheek, smiling apologetically. “I swear I will make time for you. If you have need of me, I will drop whatever it is I'm doing to come to your aid.”

Ebrisa took his hand and kissed the palm, wishing it wasn't hidden by his glove. “I will always need you.”

“That will certainly make for an unproductive day, but my word is my bond, dear lady.”

With a final kiss to her temple, Cullen hesitantly left to start his day, leaving Ebrisa some privacy to prepare for her own. She dressed in her new clothes and did what she could with her still poofy hair, inhaling a deep breath before taking that first step out of Cullen's tent and out of his protection. At least, she thought she was.

Garrett gave her a cheeky grin and a loose salute. “Morning, Ebrisa. The commander tasked me with seeing you safely through Haven today.”

A small prickle crept up Ebrisa's neck, but she pushed it away. “I don't need an escort. You can return to your other duties.”

“Nu-uh,” Garrett wagged a finger in the air. “If I don't do as the big man says, I'm on outer patrol duty once again and – in case you haven't noticed – it is _cold_ here.”

Letting out a silent sigh in resignation, Ebrisa nodded and motioned for the templar to lead the way. The Chantry was old – far older than most of the village – and as they walked up to it the mage recalled rumors she had heard from the soldiers stationed at the Conclave before she and Cullen arrived. Supposedly, a cult had taken residence in Haven for generations, performing blood sacrifices and worshiping a dragon that they believed to be the reincarnation of Andraste herself. Some men even claimed that one such cultist had been captured and put to work on special assignments. Blasphemous, ridiculous, and impossible to be true, but soldiers did like their tall tales.

Garrett had enough sense to wait outside the building, giving the enchanter an encouraging thumbs up as he closed the door behind her. The hall had no windows, relying on torches lining the wall for light. Dozens of candles gathered at the base of weathered stone statues of Andraste – no doubt original instillation – and a cleric busied herself with keeping them alight.

“Pardon me, sister,” Ebrisa spoke in a lowered, revered voice. “Would you be so kind as to direct me to Lady Montilyet?” The cleric gaped at her for a moment, as though unused to being shown such politeness, but soon recovered and pointed out the ambassador's office in the back.

There should have been a pulpit of some sort set up at the far end, but none were to be seen. The pews were pushed to the side and the braziers that did remain were not stoked with the chips of incense, leaving the sacred building oddly bereft of the peace Ebrisa could only feel in Chantries. Had it always been this way in Haven, or had the Inquisition assumed control and claimed the building for their own needs? The Chantry was in obvious disarray with the current tragedy and loss of the Divine and it needed hope and faith just as much as it needed security and answers.

An Antivan woman in glittering silks sat behind a desk positioned in perfect line of sight of the door, automatically directing the eye. The woman looked up before Ebrisa even had a chance to knock and rose elegantly from her chair, inviting the enchanter inside with a sweep of her hand. “Do come in, miss. How may I assist you?”

Ebrisa fought the embarrassed flush and entered the room. The wide necked dress, beige kirtle, and additional layers around her waist had made her feel so feminine when she first put them on, but in the company of the gold and violet clad Antivan, she felt uncomely and out of place. “Yes, thank you,” she managed to force out, coming to a stop just before the desk and remaining standing. “I was told you were in charge of assignments, Lady Montilyet, and I've come to offer my services.”

“We certainly could do with more helping hands.” Josephine Montilyet sat herself back down and retrieved a ledger from the corner of her desk, drawing her eyes over the other woman discreetly and assessing her. “Do you have much kitchen experience? It is a lot of work to feed an army – even a fledgling one such as ours.”

“No, well, _yes,_ but I've not come to you for peeling potatoes, my lady.”

Josephine's lip curled into a small smile, but the humor in her eyes was harder to restrain. “So what skills _are_ you offering?”

“I understand you are short on healers.” Josephine perked up at the mention and her reaction gave Ebrisa the confidence to press forward. “I am both classically trained and self-taught in the healing and apothecary arts.”

“That is wonderful news. Master Adan – and his patients – will be thrilled to have you taking over their care.” The Antivan flipped through the ledger until she found the page she needed and picked up a quill, making changes for a few moments before looking up at the blonde once again. “How rude of me. I seem to have neglected to ask your name, miss...?”

“Ebrisa.”

Josephine nodded, adding the name to the roster. “No family name?”

She tried to restrain the frown and keep the dull thrum of pain from presenting itself, but judging from the subtle shift of the ambassador's own expression, she had failed. “Not anymore, I'm afraid.”

“I see.” Josephine did not push for an explanation and simply closed her ledger. She rose to her feet once again and held out a hand. “Welcome to the Inquisition, Mistress Ebrisa. If there is anything else we can do to make your assignment here more efficient, please do not hesitate to mention it.”

Ebrisa shook the offered hand, smiling sheepishly. “Actually, I was wondering if you knew where I might secure lodgings?”

“It just so happens that I know the perfect place.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Adan was indeed grateful for the reprieve, dusting off his hands and holding them in the air in way of physically ridding himself of the unwanted responsibility. “'Bout time they found a replacement, and one who actually looks the part to boot!” He sidestepped the mage out the door practically the moment she explained Josephine's decision, calling the rest over his shoulder. “I'll be seeing to my potions and tonics just next door, if you need something!”

His speedy exit spoke volumes for his bedside manner and Ebrisa glanced at the patients she'd briefly seen to the day prior apologetically, despite not being responsible for Adan's behavior. The night's rest had gone a long way to restoring Ebrisa's mana and she felt confident enough in her reserves to perform the healing spells she would need, but she recalled how Kirkwall had responded after the attack and knew the survivors of the Conclave could be just as distrusting. It occurred to her then that she had not specifically mentioned to Josephine that she was a mage and couldn't help but wonder if the omission had been a subconscious act of self-preservation. The truth would come out eventually, so she might as well face it head on.

“May have your attention, please?” Ebrisa waited for the wounded to look at her before continuing. “I am an enchanter with focus in the creation school and specialization as a Spirit Healer. If you are uncomfortable with my using magic to see to your injuries, I am also experienced with more traditional methods of mending. If you object to being treated by me at all, I can request Master Adan to oversee your care once again.” She paused, waiting for backlash or outrage, and braced herself.

An uncomfortable quiet settled over the cabin as the soldiers and pilgrims looked at each other. “Well,” one man slowly began, “you seemed an alright enough sort yesterday. Checkin' on us when you were still a bit wobbly yourself.”

Ebrisa smiled softly at the stranger, nodding slightly. “That's kind of you to say.”

A soldier she didn't recognize sat up a bit straighter on his cot, eying her skeptically. “I'm not very keen on the idea of magic running around inside me, but if you... could you fix my leg? Would it be strong enough to fight on again?”

“If I use magic to mend the bone, then you will be up on your feet today.” The enchanter rocked her head to the side and flipped a hand. “Though I would recommend a few days of light duty before returning to active fighting or training, just to be on the safe side. Cullen can be very accommodating.”

The soldier and his peers shared confused glances at the casual mention of their commander, but kept their questions to themselves. After a more thorough inspection of everyone than she was able to perform yesterday, Ebrisa set and healed the broken leg. She was unable to connect with a spirit companion to lend support, so she relied upon her own skills and power, pushing the growing concern to the back of her mind and focusing on her charges instead. As she promised, the soldier was out of bed and walking with his normal gait in less than ten minuets and the rest of the patients were cleared to leave within the hour.

With no people to look after, Ebrisa turned her attention to the cabin as a whole and began organizing the supplies in a way that would be most efficient for her while mentally taking inventory as well. Garrett refused to let the woman out of his sight and so followed her as she secured various items from around Haven to give the healing cabin a proper scrub down. It was apparent that the location used to be a normal residence and was hastily set up, possibly not even cleaned before doing so. In times of crisis such circumstances are understandable, but now that it had calmed a little and Ebrisa was in charge, she was going to ensure things were done properly.

Garrett was good enough to carry the cast iron pot and set it on the fire in the center of the cabin cluster after filling it with snow, but the majority of supplies Ebrisa handled. She scrubbed the tables and cots with as much elbow grease as she could muster while waiting for the snow to melt and her actions were not going unnoticed.

“Pardon the interruption, but I do not believe you to be a scullery maid.”

Ebrisa looked up from her scouring to find a bald elf standing in the doorway with a slightly amused expression on his face. He bore no vallaslin – despite appearing more than old enough to have received one – but didn't seem to have the air of a city elf either. “That I'm not. Lady Montilyet has appointed me head healer, messere.”

He touched a hand lightly to his chest. “Solas,” the elf corrected, introducing himself.

Ebrisa scrunched up her nose slightly as she looked him over. “I'm curious, Messere Solas, if your parents knew you would grow to be tall or if they hoped you would develop a prideful disposition.” She flushed in mild mortification, realizing her error. “Forgive me. I should not have presumed the elven language was a factor in your naming. A friend of mine encouraged such questions and it appears I haven't been able to break the habit.”

Solas retained his amusement. “A human healer familiar with the elven tongue is an unusual sight.” He glanced discreetly behind him. “Is that why you remain under suspicion?”

She followed his eyes out the door where Garrett stood just within earshot, his hand lightly gripping his sword in its sheath. “I still may be, but that particular templar is here for my protection.”

“An understandable precaution, Miss...?”

Again, the woman flushed, this time for failing to return the introduction. “Being in the rural mountains seems to have robbed me of my manners, messere.” She rose to her feet and instinctively took hold of her skirts in preparation for a curtsey, stopping herself at the last moment and pretending to dry her palms instead. “Ebrisa. A pleasure.” She held out her hand and the elf shook it, narrowing his eyes a fraction.

After only a moment of silence, Solas dropped her hand and returned to his previous posture. “The commander's paramour, of course. I am pleased to see you live after all.”

“How do you know about myself and Cullen?”

“I was part of the group that attempted to seal the Breach and was with Carver when Varric told him you had perished in the explosion. Suffice it to say, emotions were quite high and many a demon suffered the wrath of your friends.” Solas took a step back and dipped his head slightly. “If you'll excuse me, I believe your water is boiling.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say hello to 'Captain Cockblock'. Rylen and Cullen became really good buds during his time in Kirkwall, which gives him a bit too much teasing room. Not to worry, Rylen will never learn his lesson.
> 
> Ah, and for those who might not know or forgot, the full translated song Ebrisa is singing can be found here:  
> [Mir Da'Len Somniar](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10121867)


	5. Settled In

The next week was immensely busy as the Inquisition formally organized itself. Ravens went out at all hours, standardized uniforms were distributed, and Ebrisa barely had a chance to spend more than five minuets alone with Cullen at a time. That's not to say they didn't see each other, only that they were constantly being interrupted by some sort of official missive or a report that needed his immediate attention. She saw her fair share of work as well, but the majority of injuries coming through her door were minor and caused by wildlife or carelessness – nothing that would require her to pour through her notebooks or develop a new tonic for.

When things finally slowed down and Haven could breathe again, Varric organized a little get-together in the tavern for what he affectionately called the _Kirkwall Krew_. Ebrisa was only slightly apprehensive about going for the simple fact that she knew sitting in the _Singing Maiden_ for an extended period of time would encourage at least Varric to try to get her to drink. Despite being a lightweight and a very honest drunk, the pros of seeing everyone in one place and spending time with them greatly outweighed the cons.

She sat on a bench between Varric and Cullen, the commander trying to be discreet about the hand he was resting on her hip even though it was plain to see how close the two of them were sitting. They played cards, Marian at an unfair advantage for knowing all of the mage's tells and Rylen constantly mumbling that Starkhaven's rules were different every time he lost a hand. The group did their best to leave the Inquisition outside, but someone inevitably slipped up and that's when the drinks really started to flow.

Ebrisa abstained, as they all knew she would, but that didn't stop Garrett from constantly switching their mugs in hopes she wouldn't notice the smell or taste of ale and think it was still her own beverage. After the fifth failed attempt, she swatted his hand and leveled him with a disapproving frown, the full grown man shrinking back like a naughty child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. His petulant pout was quickly replaced with a grin – equally childish – and he leaned over to whisper to his cohort. Marian shot him an intrigued look and nodded as subtly as possible, but not nearly enough to have gone unnoticed by Varric.

Sitting across from Carver caused him to remain in Ebrisa's sight for the majority of the evening and though she tried to restrain herself, her eyes continuously fell on his marked hand. Each time he caught her squinting at the oddity, she would quickly look away but he was well aware of her staring. After one too many hurried sips of water from the mage, Carver thumped his elbow on the table and held out his hand. “Go ahead,” he sighed tiredly.

Ebrisa hesitated only a moment before pushing her cup to the side and taking Carver's left hand in both her own. She tilted and flexed it, leaning on the wooden surface to better observe how the mark reacted to the skin around it. “It stays fixed, as though connected, yet there is no scaring on the flesh to indicate an open wound. If I had to make a declaration, I'd say this is not coming from within you, but was attached to you somehow.”

“I guess,” Carver muttered. “I mean, I'm not a mage, so magic can't really pour out of me.”

“You know that's not how it works, but I see your point.” Ebrisa shot him a brief, amused smile before returning her focus to the mark. “Does it hurt? Is it a burning sensation, or more of a tingle? Has anyone tried interrupting the flow with an outside source of mana?”

Carver pulled his hand free just as the mage was inching a finger towards the glowing energy, uncertain what would happen to either of them should she actually poke it. “Its, uh, kind of pins and needles most of the time, like when your leg falls asleep, but when I'm actually _using_ it...” he trailed off, trying to find the right descriptor. “Yeah, it hurts.”

Marian elbowed Carver a little too sharply, laughing at her own jest even before saying it. “Does the _Champion of Andraste_ want Mommy to kiss it and make it better?”

“I'm not nearly drunk enough to let any part of that slide,” Carver growled back, clearly annoyed at the title he hadn't asked for. Rumors and whispers of what had happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes had jumbled together and circulated misinformation. People heard that a dark-haired warrior with the family name Hawke had stepped out of the Fade with a vision of Andraste standing watch and immediately fact and fiction began to mix. The gender was confused and the masses came to believe it was the Champion of Kirkwall that was marked by the Maker, not her brother. Deavelle Hawke was no where to be found – not for lack of trying on Seeker Cassandra's part – and still she had somehow managed to overshadow Carver.

“Marian, you shouldn't say his title so disrespectfully,” Ebrisa chided softly.

“Why not?” Carver tossed his hands in the air and rolled his eyes. “Its all a big joke, isn't it? I'm not some _holy one_ chosen by Andraste – I'm not even that religious. I don't know what happened in the Fade or what was really behind me when I left it – if anything – but I highly doubt the Maker's Bride has any interest in me.” He grabbed his mug once again and tossed it back, downing the last of his ale. “Unless she's hoping I can point her in Dee's direction and I'm just keeping the title warm for my sister.”

Ebrisa frowned and stretched an arm across the table, then returned it to the edge. “Marian? Would you be so kind as to give our Champion a smack on the head? It appears I can't reach.”

Carver ducked the overly enthusiastic swat from the templar. “And why are you sanctioning attacks against me?”

“To instill sense, Champion. Did it occur to you that the reason you were chosen instead of any number of the highly devote at the Conclave is _because_ you did not find yourself worthy? _Because_ you are not consumed with pride, and thus would use the mark to restore order instead of pursuing personal glory?” Ebrisa smiled again, though this time it was lacking the humor she'd shown earlier. “I would not presume to know the Maker's plan or will, but I do know you, Champion, and you were not chosen in error.”

The heat that crept up Carver's cheeks had him wishing he hadn't finished his drink already for the single fact that now he had nothing to hide behind. He grabbed the mug anyways, because he felt he had to do _something_ , and trained his eyes on the uneven handle.

“Careful now,” Rylen chuckled. “Keep giving the Champion attention, and Cullen there is liable to get jealous.” He tipped his mug for emphasis, pointing at the man at the end of the bench. “He's quite prone to it and can be a right crabbit.”

“I am not,” Cullen shot back, though his light hold of Ebrisa had become firmer and moved to a far more obvious location.

“Oh? I suppose all those glares you threw at the Prince of Starkhaven back in Kirkwall were merely squints against the glaring sheen of his armor?”

“Hold the door, Curly was jealous of Choir Boy?” Varric scowled at Marian and Garrett, smacking the table. “Now why didn't you two tell me that? I could have added a love-triangle element!”

“Aw, but those can be so messy,” Garrett slurred, easily being the most drunk of the group. “It would have muddled the depth of Colin's and Risa's feelings to throw another guy in the mix.”

“Or solidified it,” the dwarf argued. “Guess we'll never know now, will we?”

“So _that's_ why we're suddenly being deployed to the Hinterlands,” Marian drawled out with a tease in her voice. “The commander is trying to get rid of the competition.”

Cullen leveled her with a very tired, very unamused look. “You've already been briefed on the mission's objectives and know full well we've been planning it all week. This is _not_ sudden.”

Ebrisa creased her brow in concern thinking once again about the situation in the Hinterlands. The fighting between mages and templars was especially bad there and more innocents were getting caught in the middle every day. Mother Giselle offered to help the Inquisition, but that meant she would be abandoning her current mission helping civilians at the Crossroads. “Perhaps I should go to the-”

“No,” Cullen cut in, knowing what she was going to say. They had already talked several times about her joining the party and while she would be able to help the wounded, she would be doing so in the middle of a war zone. It was too soon after her return to let Ebrisa outside Haven without him and for every reason she argued for, Cullen listed five against.

“But surely an extra set of hands would-”

“No.” Carver joined in this time, his flush gone and cranky attitude returned.

“Just think of all the people who are hurt and-”

“ _No._ ” The entire table chorused, making Ebrisa feel positively ganged up on.

“Well, why not?” She huffed. “If you're concerned for my safety, can't Cullen just have some soldiers play shadow like they do now at the clinic?”

The commander straightened and did his best to feign innocence. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“And I suppose its normal for recruits to get bumps and bruises looked at in regular intervals throughout the day?” Ebrisa turned to face Cullen fully, a rarely seen look of annoyance overtaking her features. “I know you're sending them. If you want a status report on me, then have the decency to come yourself and stop wasting my time with injuries you know will mend themselves.”

“Aww, come on, Mom,” Garrett gently prodded, “the commander can't help being worried.”

“I know,” Ebrisa sighed, slumping her shoulders and dropping her eyes to the table. “I know...”

Garrett and Marian snickered at each other and clinked their mugs in triumph, the obvious action earning a brow raise from Rylen. “All right then, what's that about?”

“She answered to _Mom_ ,” Marian explained with a wide grin.

Rylen shook his head, restraining a laugh. “What's the lass supposed to do when you keep behaving like a galoot wean? Pat you on the head?”

“Maybe it was all part of their brilliant strategy to lure her into the proper frame of mind?” Varric offered.

“Yeah!” Garrett pointed at the dwarf. “That's exactly what we did.”

“I'm so sure,” Rylen chuckled.

Cullen stood up and dropped some coins on the table, the levity of the evening gone. “It's gotten late and I've some final preparations to make before you depart for the Hinterlands.” He looked the raven-haired templars over, quickly assessing their level of drunkenness. “I expect you all to be on time, hangover or no.”

“Pops is no fun either,” Garrett grumbled into his mug, earning a snicker from the much more sober Rylen.

Whether he heard the comment or not, no one could tell, and Cullen focused on the quiet woman beside him. “If you don't mind the company, I'll walk you back.”

Ebrisa nodded and quietly said her goodnights before following the commander out of the tavern and through the cold, silent village. She hadn't meant to call him out in front of the others, but she couldn't help the childish way she'd snapped her displeasure of the situation.

“You're upset.” Cullen's words broke the silence between them, but remained soft enough to not draw attention from any of the supposedly sleeping people in the clustered cabins.

“Cullen,” she began quietly, “I appreciate your concern – more than appreciate – but you must see that this patient charade is an abuse of your authority and a waste of time for everyone involved.”

He rested his hands on the pommel of his sword, needing to hold something and concerned that the woman beside him might reject his touch. “Is that what displeases you? Abusing my power for your benefit?”

“But its not for my benefit, its for _yours_.” Ebrisa rubbed at her forehead, trying to smooth the creases out in an attempt to physically remove her mild irritation. “I don't need guards to keep me safe while I'm working and, in case you've forgotten, I do know more than healing magic.” She dropped her eyes to the path and hugged herself, only partially doing so for warmth. “It's not as though I'm defenseless.”

“Oh.” Cullen stopped, suddenly realizing the true issue. “Oh, Ebrisa, I didn't mean to belittle you. It was never my intention to make you feel incompetent.”

“Incompetent?”

He started walking again, taking her arm when he was close enough and gently tugging her to face him. “Not the best choice of words, but you should know by now what affect you have on my speech.” He smiled slightly, unable to restrain his relief that she hadn't pulled away. “I respect you, Ebrisa, and I know you are very capable, but I am not concerned about you.” Cullen looked skyward briefly, mouthing a silent curse at his continued speech errors. “I trust you; I don't trust everyone else.”

“You have to, Cullen.” She placed her hand over his, squeezing it reassuringly. “How can you expect the Inquisition to function if the commander of its forces is suspicious of the other leaders?”

“Cassandra and Leliana-”

“-Have left me alone,” she cut in, finishing his sentence to serve her own argument. “I've done nothing wrong, Cullen, and the best way to stop people from suspecting me is for you to stop acting like I have something to hide.”

He was quiet for the rest of the short walk to her cabin, mulling over the points Ebrisa was trying to get him to see. A heavy sigh left him in a puff of white, the freezing air making the breath visible and adding to the image of the man physically expelling his ill-advised notions. “I will call off the clinic inspections and swear to only send you people who truly need to be looked after.” Cullen gave her a halfhearted smirk, trying to hide the lingering fear he couldn't be rid of. “How is it that you can remain so level-headed?”

Ebrisa turned away from the door and smiled up at the man, green eyes twinkling with amusement in the moonlight. “One of us has to be, Commander, and it clearly wasn't going to be you.”

Cullen took a step forward, trapping the woman against her door with his armored body. “Do I detect a note of criticism in that comment, Enchanter?”

“I can hardly speak for what you detect, good ser. I do not know your mind.”

He pressed a hand against the door for balance and slipped the fingers of the other along the nape of Ebrisa's neck up into the loosest part of her tightly styled hair. “Don't you?” The kiss that followed was filled with love and longing, with protectiveness and passion, with fear and familiarity.

He knew Ebrisa was right – she seemed to always be right – and he could clearly see her point on why his failed secretive behavior could have been counter-intuitive to his desire to keep her safe. After all, if a mage had noticed the pattern of recruit patients, then surely a skilled spymaster had figured it out too and who knew what Leliana thought of the masquerade.

The main goal at the moment was getting the Inquisition in a position to close the Breach and that meant they would need allies, but foreign alliances would mean nothing if the core was fractured. Cullen was still furious at the others for what they had done, but he supposed that if the roles were reversed, he might have done something similar and questioned anyone suspected of causing the explosion at the Conclave. What he could never forgive, however, is the fact that they did not share the information that Ebrisa was alive the moment they found her. They knew who she was, what she meant to him, how devastated he was by the loss, yet they remained silent. They let him stay in despair. They saw his pain and struggle, and kept the one piece of information that would revive him to themselves.

“I think,” Ebrisa panted, face flushed from the cold and the kiss she had just broken, “that I may know it a little better now.” Her hand fumbled across the planking until she found the handle and turned it, opening the door to the clinic. The sudden loss of support had Cullen stumbling forward, pushing the woman in ahead of him and somehow managing to keep the two of them on their feet as they staggered inside. Ebrisa muffled her laughter at the awkward entrance with her hand, not wanting to wake her neighbors.

The clinic was clean and organized with cots in a neat row along the wall and supplies clearly labeled on the other, a far cry from the haphazard way she had found it under Adan's care. The cabin had wooden partitions in one corner, sectioning off a bed that Josephine had assigned as Ebrisa's quarters. It allowed the healer some privacy from, but easy access to, her patients in the middle of the night. Cullen did feel a little better about Ebrisa sleeping in a place of solid construction that she could lock up instead of a tent that could be easily torn down or cut into, but a selfish part of him wished Josephine hadn't been able to find her accommodations.

That single night they had spent in his tent was the best sleep he could remember having since, well, ever, but it paled in comparison to the morning that followed. Waking up to find Ebrisa laying beside him – peaceful, beautiful – brought such a warmth to his heart and he fantasized about doing the same every morning. He could do without Rylen bursting in and spoiling the mood, however.

At the moment, there were no patients and Cullen kicked the door closed with his foot to give them the first bit of real privacy they've had in over a week. He returned his hand to her hair, knowing he was damaging the structural integrity of the low bun and not caring a bit, and secured his now free arm around Ebrisa's waist, holding her tightly against him as he found her lips once again. The lingering bubbles of mirth died away with the echos of her laugh as she returned the kiss, fisting her hands in the fur of his mantle.

Standing alone in the cabin, holding one another in a long overdue embrace, felt like an eternity and an instant all at once and before either of them even had a chance to think about moving to a more comfortable position, there was a hurried knock on the door. Cullen pulled away in confusion, unable to place the sound, and when it repeated Ebrisa extracted herself from his arms and opened the door.

Maryden, the bard who they'd seen performing in the tavern not that long ago, walked inside cradling her hand to her chest. “I know it's late, but I'm afraid I've had a bit of an accident.”

“Let me see,” Ebrisa said in a voice that managed to be soothing without coming off as condescending. She took the injured hand and nodded knowingly at the line of blood across the back of it. “String snapped on you?”

“Yes,” Maryden murmured, embarrassed by the occupational injury. “Its not the first time either.”

“Happens after stepping outside for a break?”

The bard looked up in surprise. “How did you know?”

“You play by the warmest place in the tavern and your stings are metal. I suspect you also do a great deal of tuning between sets?” Ebrisa smiled sympathetically, directing the other woman to sit on a cot. “I had similar issues when we first got here.”

“You play?”

“The harp,” Ebrisa explained, bringing a cloth and antiseptic to her patient.

Maryden brightened at the revelation. “Perhaps we could perform a duet.”

The enchanter looked back to Cullen, silently asking if he had come across her instrument, and he shook his head in reply. “It was lost, I'm afraid.”

“Shame,” the bard sighed, then hissed as the other woman cleaned the shallow cut.

“It was a gift from a friend in Kirkwall.” Ebrisa frowned a moment, wondering what Merrill was up to and if she was alright. Shaking the thought away, she quickly summoned the basic healing energy she needed and sealed the minor wound, making the skin whole once again.

Maryden blinked at the magic, then turned around to regard Cullen. She squinted at Ebrisa, then back to Cullen again. A beat of silence, then she jumped up from the cot and grabbed the healer's shoulders. “Its you! Both of you! And it's _true_?!” She laughed brightly, eyes shining excitedly. “ _The Gallows' Lovers_ here in the flesh? Its a bard's dream come true.”

Ebrisa blushed at the name, not having heard it before, but knowing full well why it was used. All things considered, it was a wonder more people hadn't called out Cullen and herself as being the couple referred to in the Divine's decree the year before. Although it was very likely that hadn't happened because the stern persona Cullen usually had on while with the troops frightened the average person from doing so.

The bard paused her excitement to reassess the situation she had interrupted and slipped a hand over her mouth, eyes darting to the mostly shielded bed in the corner. “ _Oh._ I think I've taken up enough of your _private time_. I'll just be on my way. Don't mind me.” Maryden gave the mage a quick wink before leaving the cabin. “Lucky girl.”

Cullen and Ebrisa watched the other woman disappear into the night, both flustered by her hurried exit. They watched the falling snow for a bit and listened as the quiet settled once again, but the intimate mood was undeniably ruined by the interruption. “I do have final preparations to make for tomorrow,” Cullen muttered, begrudgingly dragging out the words. “I should return to my tent.”

“Alright,” Ebrisa sighed, equally hesitant. She rose up on her toes and kissed him softly on the cheek, rocking back onto her heels. “Goodnight, love.”

“Goodnight.” He returned the gesture, but ghosted his lips from her cheek to her ear. “Next time,” he whispered, “I say we snuff the lights and pretend we aren't home.”

She squirmed away from his hot breath and stifled a giggle. “Only if we try the same strategy in your quarters.”

“Deal.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd, as always, by the lovely [ZuleFandom](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ZuleFandom/pseuds/ZuleFandom)


	6. Appearances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this going up late today, but I just moved and had a lot of unpacking to do. I am eager for things to settle so I can get back to writing again....

Cullen had promised to give Ebrisa space to work, and he had. He let her handle the unruly patients that popped up, knowing that if there was any true cause for alarm or fear for her safety – or, the safety of her other patients, rather – then the woman would switch from healer to defender and take care of the situation. He swore to not act out in retribution against any of these hypothetical assailants, but it went against every natural instinct the man had. Cullen wanted to keep her safe from every manner of physical or emotional harm, but he had given his word to stand aside until asked to intervene.

He was filled with so much pent up protectiveness that when he saw Ebrisa wandering around outside the village gates wearing extra layers of wool, the commander tried to make his way over to investigate. Clueless, raw recruits and status reports demanded his attention and prevented him from leaving his post, so he kept as close an eye on Ebrisa's progress away from the relative security of Haven as he could. She soon disappeared into the trees and Cullen's frayed nerves had him snapping sharper than needed at even minor interruptions as he pulled up survey reports in his mind and tried to recall what sort of wildlife inhabited the area.

Rams and rabbits were in abundance, and a good thing too, as they made up the majority of meals. Wolves were sometimes heard on the wind further in the valley, but no actual sighting had been made. The Inquisition had a few bronto, but the beasts were domesticated and kept to fencing, just as nervous as many of the people were about the local druffalo. _Druffalo_.

Nearly the instant Cullen settled his eyes on the temperamental herd across the frozen lake, he saw a bundled up figure enter their clearing. Cullen cursed under his breath, cutting off the lieutenant he was speaking with and shoving the reports into the confused officer's hands before rushing off down the same path Ebrisa had meandered down earlier.

He came upon her precariously close to a druffalo – male, judging by the shape of the horns – and seized her from behind, dragging Ebrisa back to a safe distance with an arm around her waist and a hand over her mouth. She recognized him after only a moment of panicked struggling and by the time he released her, the woman was more confused than startled.

“Cullen, what are you doing?”

“What am _I_ doing?” He stared at her incredulously, waving a hand towards the wild animals. “What are _you_ doing?” The volume of his voice drew the druffalo's attention and the beast huffed out a low noise before moving further away from the humans.

“Gathering herbs,” Ebrisa answered, pointing a gloved finger towards the basket she had dropped during her minor abduction.

“If you need supplies, put in a requisition,” he sighed, gently turning her face and prodding her arms, checking for injuries. “That's why Threnn is there.”

“And she's bogged down with mountains of requests already. It seemed foolish to wait around for my turn when I could easily go foraging myself.” She walked back to her basket, kneeling down and gathering up the sprigs that had scattered to the snow. “And besides, if I hadn't come out here, I never would have found these.” She held out a thinly stocked plant, its leaves shriveled or otherwise missing, with clumps of soil still clinging to the wide roots. “It's valerian. According to several Tevinter journals we had in the Gallows, it might be able to help you sleep through the night better.” A smile broke out over her face as Cullen took the plant and looked it over skeptically. “I'll have to dry it out first, but I can have some tea for you in under a week.”

Cullen frowned slightly, knowing that whatever comfort the herb might provide wouldn't measure up to the woman before him. “And was this stick worth risking your neck? You could have been trampled to death by these beasts.”

“What? These little guys?” She looked over her shoulder at the herd grazing on the sparse winter vegetation and pawing at the snow to dig out more.

“As a general rule, if something is bigger than you, then it isn't a _little guy._ ” Cullen dropped the herb back into the basket, wondering how long it had taken her to gather so much elfroot.

“They're smaller than Leopold,” Ebrisa mumbled quietly, swatting at a patch of snow with the back of her hand. Leaving the loyal wyvern in Kirkwall had been difficult, but even if they could have secured passage on the ship for the large animal, he would not have lasted long in the Frostbacks. Wyverns were coldblooded and relied on the warmth of the sun and ground to regulate their body temperature, but there was little of that to be found high up in the Fereldan mountains. The parting was emotional for Leopold too, as the creature was smart enough to understand that Ebrisa would not be returning any time soon and let out mournful screeches from the dock as the enchanter crossed the harbor. “They're harmless.”

Cullen dusted the dirt from his hands, then offered one to his partner. “Have you forgotten Haider's broken leg just last week?”

“I haven't, or his cracked ribs.” Ebrisa took his hand and stood up, looping an arm under the basket's handle once Cullen let go.

“Do you also recall those injuries were caused by one of these _harmless_ beasts?” Cullen folded his arms over his chest, tilting his head to the side and raising a brow. “He was charged and run down. Its a miracle the lad survived the attack.”

Ebrisa tilted her head to mirror his, playful smirk on place. “I don't know what Haider wrote in the official incident report, but he confessed to me that he ran up to the animal in full plate, trying to kill it with a battle axe on a dare. I would say that sounds like provocation. Wouldn't you, Commander?”

Indeed, that was _not_ in the signed statement Haider had filed and Cullen made a mental note to address the troops about avoiding needless harassment of the local fauna. “Druffalo are still dangerous,” he argued, choosing to gloss over her point. “Perhaps you aren't very familiar with them because they reside mostly in Ferelden, but they are large, territorial, powerful, and extremely temperamental.”

Ebrisa hummed thoughtfully, seemingly taking in his words of caution. Her eyes darted up to meet his, smirk twice as obvious as it had been a moment before. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

Cullen furrowed his brow, not catching her meaning.

“They even dress like you,” she added sweetly, retracing her steps back to Haven.

The commander twisted around to study the wild animals, finding them big and bulky with thick wreaths of fur around their necks and front shoulders for warmth. He gawked a little, finally understanding why the woman had been smirking. “Ebrisa,” he called after her, jogging a little to catch up, “did you just call me a druffalo?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mother Giselle had arrived days ago, bringing with her an influx of the faithful who had seen some of the worst of the Mage-Templar war. The new residents told stories of what they witnessed in the Hinterlands, of the anger and destruction, and their words only served to stoke the flames of hatred and distrust that had somewhat simmered in Haven.

“I'm so sorry to bother you with this,” Sofia, one of the many cooks that prepared meals for the army, bemoaned once again. She sat slouching on one of the cots, practically pouting, as she held her left arm out to be examined.

“There's no need to apologize. This is, after all, my job.” Ebrisa moved away from the patient and selected a small jar from the multitude of shelves and a roll of clean, linen wrappings from a basket. “Just promise me that the next time you see a cast iron pot tipping over, you let it spill into the coals instead of trying to catch it bare handed.”

Sofia pursed her lips as her cheeks flared in embarrassment, eyes glued to the floor. “I promise,” she mumbled.

The enchanter nodded, satisfied, and began applying salve to the burn. “Good. Food is replaceable, people are not.” She wrapped the forearm gently, tying off the ends to secure it in place. “I want you to come see me every morning to get this changed. One of the ingredients was impossible to come by, so I had to adjust the normal recipe, but you should be all healed up in a few days.”

The ambient noise of Haven grew in volume, voices becoming more defined, and before long Ebrisa could clearly make out the direction of the ruckus. She motioned for Sofia to stay put and closed the door behind herself, making her way towards the gathered crowd in front of the Chantry only to discover the divided group was close to riot.

“Your kind killed the Most Holy!” A soldier ground out, pointing an aggressive finger across the divide at the equally enraged mages. Ebrisa recognized the man – knew him from Kirkwall – and was appalled at how easily he'd fallen in with the mob.

“Wait just a moment,” Ebrisa called out, voice loud and authoritative enough for the crowd to instantly part. She walked to the center of the group, back to the mages but not quite standing with them, and set her hands firmly on her hips. “There we are, Ser Cassin, you may continue.”

The templar looked uneasy and couldn't answer immediately.

“Is there a problem? I do believe you were accusing all mages of conspiring against the Conclave?” Ebrisa tilted her head slightly and raised a brow in challenge, an action the former residents of the Gallows were accustomed to seeing from their commander.

“But you're...” Cassin tried to explain. “I know _you_ didn't have anything to do with it, First Enchanter.”

“But I'm a mage,” she countered. “Weren't you just saying my kind were guilty? That includes me, doesn't it?” Ebrisa had been adamant from day one that she had no part in the explosion and knew that this conversation could easily instil doubt to that fact, but it was a chance she had to take in order to get through to her former charge.

“You're not _just_ a mage.”

“Exactly. I'm a person.” She took her hands off her hip and motioned to the warriors before her with open palms and wide arms. “You're a person.” A hand waved behind her, indicating the mages at her back. “Each one of them is a person, and you know what? Maybe the Divine was killed by a mage tired of oppression. Maybe it was a templar angry at being belittled.” Ebrisa brought her hands back in, folding them over her chest. “Maybe it was a human who just wanted to keep the war going. Maybe it was an elf seeking equality. Maybe it was a dwarf wanting to take over the lyrium trade. Maybe it was a Qunari hoping to create a religious vacuum for the Qun to fill. The point, ser, is that we don't know who the culprits are and to treat entire groups as suspects just because the perpetrator _could_ be related to them in ways they can not control is a waste of time that will only serve to fracture us.”

“She's right,” Cullen added, having exited the Chantry some time ago. “We can not let infighting stop us from our united goal. The world is falling apart around us and we must set an example.” He stood by her side, giving her a brief glance that showed only a fraction of the pride he felt at the woman's speech. “We are _all_ part of the Inquisition.”

“Why didn't you step in earlier?” Ebrisa whispered, cheeks flushing in mild embarrassment.

“You seemed to be doing just fine,” he whispered back, working very hard to restrain a teasing smirk.

Roderick pushed his way through the calmed crowd, taking a moment to straighten his robes before speaking in the most authoritative voice he could muster. “I'm curious, Commander, as to how your Inquisition and its _Champion_ will restore order, as you promised.”

“Of course you are,” Cullen sneered, his dislike of the meddling chancellor coming off so obviously that Ebrisa had to elbow him to reel it back in. He waved a hand at the group, shooing them away. “Back to your duties, all of you.”

“Let us be realistic,” Roderick continued, clearly annoyed to have lost his audience and being left with just the couple to complain to. “If this Inquisition is to follow the _example_ you and your mage mistress set in Kirkwall, then the Breach will take years to fix and the Champion will run off in the middle of the night.”

Cullen growled low in his throat and shifted his stance, looming over the older man threateningly until Ebrisa took his hand in hers and squeezed it. The small, unseen action pulled him back from aggression, but his glare remained.

“While true that Thedas is much larger than Kirkwall, Chancellor Roderick, we are equally dedicated to this new mission.” Ebrisa kept her expression and voice pleasant, a stark contrast to the fuming man beside her. “Once the Grand Clerics convene and name a new Divine, I'm certain we will follow her instructions on how to proceed. In the mean time, all the Inquisition can do is help where its needed and hope it falls in line with what Divine Justinia would have wanted.”

“Spare me the lip service,” Roderick sneered. “I am on to your scheme here: raising up a false prophet in the absence of a leader for the faithful. It is centuries of tradition that will guide us, not the upstart, eager to turn over every apple cart.”

“And while tradition is important, you can not deny that Divine Justinia was anything but traditional.” The woman dipped her head slightly, in respect. “It was you, after all, who was responsible for communicating her will to the rest of the Chantry.”

The man straightened, tucking his hands behind his back in an attempt to look regal. “Her correspondence, as well. I was a trusted advisor and Justinia sought my council on many matters. She did not always heed it, like regarding you two, and I am sad to say that her break from tradition may have been what ultimately brought about her untimely end.” Roderick looked up into the sky, watching the Breach swirl. “She could have ended this before it began, if only she'd worked with the Templar Order, if only she followed tradition.”

There is was then, what Roderick really thought of the situation. Tradition would have called for an Exalted March on Kirkwall years ago. Tradition would have prevented the First Enchanters from discussing the cure for Tranquility. Tradition would have stood by as the Lord Seeker imprisoned the Circle's leaders without cause. Tradition would have let a mad man annul each and every Circle.

Tradition would not have allowed Cullen and Ebrisa to be together.

It was difficult to keep smiling at the man who so openly declared he did not approve of her relationship and that the Divine had been wrong on several counts, but Ebrisa somehow managed. Words were more difficult to come by, so she remained silent and hoped that the next thing coming out of Roderick's mouth was a recantation, however insincere it may be.

“You again?” Carver's voice called out, announcing his return before Ebrisa could even find him through the disappearing crowd. He walked up to the small group, tired and dirty from the road, but still energetic enough to scowl at the chancellor. “Commander, remind me why he's still here?”

Roderick puffed up in agitation, frowning heavily at the Champion.

“He's annoying, but toothless,” Cullen replied coolly. “There's no point turning him into a martyr simply because he runs at the mouth. The chancellor is a good indicator of what to find in Val Royeaux, however.”

Carver ruffled his messy hair, already uneasy about the prospect of going to Orlais at all, let alone to talk to a bunch of clerics who wanted to string him up. “Heard about Giselle's plan already, huh? Don't suppose you'd want to switch me – you go walk around a courtyard of Rodericks and I stay here, hitting things?”

Cullen gave a firm, single shake of his head. “I'd rather be set on fire.”

“ _That can be arranged_ ,” Ebrisa whispered harshly, giving both men a disapproving frown.

“Mock if you will. I'm certain the Maker is less amused.” Roderick's usual grimace had deepened, looking down right livid at the blatant disrespect the trained templars were showing him. In the back of his mind, he did have the sense to register it was the mage that had been the most civil and kind to him.

The tension that Carver dispelled when he arrived had now doubled and Ebrisa couldn't begin to think on how to smooth it over. Both Carver and Cullen had needlessly antagonized a man who – though not a high-ranking official in the general sense – was a prominent figure in the current Chantry structure. They needed Roderick on their side and to speak to him – or worse, _about_ him while he was standing right there – so disrespectfully was really hurting the Inquisition's chances of doing so.

“Pardon me, Chancellor, could I have a moment?” Mother Giselle came up behind the group almost silently, her movements drowned out by the dying ruckus of the fading crowd. “I was hoping to set up a chapel for services and would greatly benefit from your input and direction.”

Roderick instantly brightened, dipping his head to Giselle. “It would be my humble honor to assist you in returning a proper sense of religion to this village.” He waved a hand towards the Chantry, indicating for the mother to lead on, and followed her the short distance to the stone building.

As the doors opened, Giselle turned her head to look back at the group and nodded with just the barest hint of a smirk on her lips. Ebrisa smiled and nodded back, grateful to finally have an ally in her campaign with Roderick. The officials now gone, she leveled the two Fereldans with an angry pout. “I know you both are warriors, but your positions require at least _some_ level of diplomacy.”

“Isn't that why I have you?” Cullen chuckled, hoping to brush the issue aside. The now narrowed green eyes boring into him told the man it didn't work and he cleared his throat to halt the attempt at humor. Carver snickered at the interaction, a jest on the tip of his tongue at the commander's expense, but Ebrisa quickly shifted her gaze to the Champion and the look made him bite it back instead.

“Both of you represent something far larger than yourselves and I don't have to tell you how important the Inquisition is.” She crossed her arms over her chest, determined to continue on with the reprimand, regardless of onlookers. “You don't have to like someone to work with them, but you _do_ need to have the common courtesy to keep your quips to private conversations _away_ from the subject of them.” Cullen rubbed at his neck as Carver shuffled on his feet, neither able to look her in the eye.

Cassandra halted her determined walk to the Chantry to assess the situation, looking between the almost ashamed full-grown men and the slight woman. “Is there a problem here?”

“No,” Ebrisa sighed after a long pause. She dropped her arms and flipped a hand. “Just... boys being boys, I suppose.”

The seeker raised a brow, but didn't question further. “Good. It is time for debriefing and both of these _boys_ need to be present.” Cullen and Carver made their awkward exit with Cassandra in tow, shaking her head, and for just a moment Ebrisa could have sworn she saw her smiling in amusement.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admit it. You can not unsee Cullen as a druffalo now. The nationality, the stubborness, the grumpiness, and the fur collar.


	7. Reunion

“Val Royeaux? And the Grand Cathedral, too?” Ebrisa sighed, resting her chin in her hands. “I am so envious.”

“You'd be the only one,” Varric chuckled. “Why don't we switch places?”

The woman brightened at the idea, straightening on the bench.

“Not a chance.” Cullen's response deflated her back into her mild pouting and he winced at the reaction. “It's just that... you're needed here.”

“But won't the Champion need some advice on how to speak to the mothers? From what I've seen lately, his decorum is sorely lacking.” She looked across the tavern's table to the man in question, asking him for backup with her bright eyes.

Carver laughed uneasily, looking between the pleading woman and the glaring commander. “I'd be offended if that wasn't true, but we really don't know what we're walking into with this meeting. Its enough of a risk for the small group that's going as is.” He shrugged apologetically. “I'll... pick you up something nice in Orlais?” His attempt at placating had her huffing silently, but he could clearly make out the displeasure in her eyes.

“Remember last time you wanted to go to Val Royeaux and I was against it?” Cullen asked from her side, drawing her attention to him. “Didn't it work out for the best that you listened to me?”

“You can't use that as an argument,” Ebrisa mumbled, bumping his arm with her shoulder. “This is hardly a gathering of first enchanters.”

“Maybe Orlais is just cursed and you should never, ever go there?” Varric offered.

“Sound advice.” Cullen nodded, wrapping an arm around Ebrisa's waist and pulling her securely to his side. “You heard the dwarf.”

“ _You're_ listening to _him_?” Ebrisa giggled, despite herself. “I'll be sure to mark the calendar of this momentous occasion.”

“Maybe the Champion of Andraste can have it declared as a religious holiday?” Varric grinned at Carver. “Hows about it, Junior? Do you think that falls into your Maker-given authority now?”

Ebrisa flicked out her hand, not quite able to reach Varric from her firm attachment to Cullen's side. “Don't make fun! You're as bad as Marian!”

“What, is Curly going to exile me to Ferelden for speaking out of turn, too?”

Cullen groaned, rolling his eyes. “For the last time, I did not exile Marian and Garrett. They have been assigned a rotating station position in the Hinterland camps. A few months, and they will be called back and replaced with fresh troops.” He turned to Varric a little more, resting his chin on the top of Ebrisa's head. “And Ferelden is hardly exile.”

“Speak for yourself,” Varric laughed. “All those hills and uneven rock faces? Tree roots popping up in the most damnable spots? My poor city senses couldn't take it.”

Ebrisa twisted her head to look at Cullen, shaking him from his perch in her hair. “I know Redcliffe is in the Hinterlands, but what about South Reach? Is it very near?”

“South Reach is further up the Drakon River, I'm afraid. It's closer to the Brecilian Forest than anything else.” Cullen smiled softly, knowing where Ebrisa was going with her questions.

“That's practically on the other side of the country,” she whispered, pulling up a vague map of Ferelden in her mind. They had planned on visiting Cullen's family before the Conclave started, but once they arrived in Haven there was so much that needed his attention that there just wasn't time. If everything had gone smoothly, they might even have been meeting his siblings right now.

“I'll get you out there eventually, I promise.” Cullen pressed a quick kiss to her temple, sealing his vow.

She held back a giggle, chest rumbling with the muted action. “Me? If I don't get _you_ out there, Mia is going to have my head.”

“That will be fairly difficult to do if she never meets you.”

“ _Cullen_.”

“Don't mind me.” Varric stood up, dropping a few coins on the table as he stepped out of the bench. “I'll just see myself out, so you two keep being all touchy-feely.” He paused a short distance from the door, calling back to the couple. “Not _too_ touchy though, you are in public, Commander.”

Ebrisa flushed, realizing that perhaps they may have been too affectionate in the tavern, and only then noticed that Carver was gone as well. The fact that she was too engrossed with Cullen to notice the person across from her stand up and walk away had her cheeks darken further. A giggle drew her attention and the enchanter twisted towards it, a smile breaking across her face as she found its source.

Carver had not left the _Singing Maiden_ and was instead standing at the bar, chatting up the owner. Flissa muffled her bubbly response with the back of her hand, pushing Carver's shoulder lightly with the other as they continued talking.

“Cullen, look,” Ebrisa whispered as she tugged on his mantle excitedly. “Look, look!”

He complied, following her direction and giving the figures at the bar a quick once over. “Carver is ordering a drink. What of it?”

“No, he's _flirting_.”

“Ah.” Cullen turned back to his almost empty mug. “Good for him?”

“Yes, _good for him_.” Ebrisa faced their table once again, folding her hands in her lap. “I've never seen him with a girl, which might be why he gets so grumpy. It'll be good for him, I think, and Flissa is such a sweetheart. They'll be lovely together.”

The commander chuckled at her enthusiasm. “Aren't you reading too much into this? People flirt all the time without any meaning to it.”

“Oh do they?” Ebrisa narrowed her eyes in mock suspicion. “And are you included in their number, good ser?”

He took one of her hands in his, holding eye contact as he kissed the back of it. “You are the only one who suffers through my inept attempts at flirting, dear lady.” Cullen leaned in, still holding her hand, and spoke huskily into her ear. “And I always mean exactly what I say with you.”

Ebrisa shivered as his voice rolled over her, nudging him with her shoulder once again. “Need I remind you, Commander, that we are in public?”

“That could be easily rectified.”

“I... I've a patient resting in the clinic.”

Cullen smirked at her as he stood up from the bench. “It just so happens that there are none in my tent, but there may be someone there in a moment who needs your attention.”

She giggled and let Cullen pull her to her feet with the same gentlemanly hold of her hand. “If this is an inept attempt at flirting, then I don't think I could survive a well-practiced one.”

“Perhaps one day we'll find out.” He lead her out of the tavern and towards the village gate. “I have every intention of making you swoon.”

“You already do.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
It had been a slow past few days, giving Ebrisa time to restock her supplies, and she spent most of the day with Adan in his workshop. They worked in a companionable silence, both with their heads buried in their tasks, and if it weren't for the occasional outburst from Adan at what he deemed to be annoying interruptions, then Ebrisa could almost imagine she was working with the Tranquil back in the Gallows.

A runner came in through the open door, hesitating to speak as he wearily looked at the alchemist. “Pardon, um, Healer?”

Adan groaned, throwing his head back. “I'm not a healer!”

The runner tensed at the snap, even though he had been expecting it, and pointed a timid finger at Ebrisa. “I- I meant her?”

“Oh, right.” Adan turned back to his work, what could have been mistaken as a flush of embarrassment creeping past his beard. “Good th0en.”

“Has something happened?” Ebrisa pulled her beaker from the heat and set it aside, not wanting the contents to reduce too much in her absence.

“Your presence is requested at the gate.” The runner motioned behind them, urging her outside.

A flash of panic flared through her, but was quickly pushed down. “Let me grab my satchel,” she called while ducking into the clinic. Hanging on a nail by the door was a small to-go pack of tonics, salves, and wrappings as well as a lyrium potion for herself if it was truly needed. Ebrisa had not taken any lyrium since Cullen had stopped using it, but if lives were on the line, then she might be forced to break her solidarity. They were fortunate enough that Haven had not yet seen further calamity, allowing Ebrisa's natural regeneration of mana to be sufficient for their current needs.

With the satchel secured across her chest, Ebrisa hurried through the village with the runner in tow, spotting a small crowd gathered at the top of the steps just before the gate and trying to sneak a glance over the log wall. She forced her way through, calling out apologies as she went, and flew out the open gate to find Carver's group had returned, and not alone.

Cassandra seemed agitated, taking her frustration out on the young stable hand as she tried to give him her mount. Varric smirked at Ebrisa as she approached and Solas stood off to the side, watching the scene as it began to play out.

“This is her?” An elf with choppy hair dropped down from the large, tarp covered cart, and got in Ebrisa's face, squinting at her. “Don't look like much. You sure?”

Carver rolled his eyes, motioning to the elf. “Ebrisa, this is Sera. She's got some sort of... network of... actually, she doesn't really explain it well.”

“I see.” Ebrisa leaned back a little in an attempt to create more space between herself and the scrutinizing gaze of the newcomer. “Aneth ara.”

Sera recoiled as if slapped, looking over at Solas before returning to Ebrisa. “Expected that one to get elfy, but not... a not elf.”

“Apologies,” Ebrisa hurried out. “I appear to be making many assumptions these days.” She looked everyone over once again, finding not a single one of them harmed, and directed her attention back to Carver. “I was told I was needed here, but...”

The Champion walked over to the cart and grabbed the edge of the thick covering, grinning at Ebrisa. “Found something for you.” With a great yank and a wide swing of his arm, Carver pulled several of the tarps back, revealing the large creature underneath that sent a chorus of gasps off inside the village. A familiar pattern of scales and scars came into view, even with the beast's head out of immediate sight and tucked against its body. Ebrisa's breath caught in her throat as she looked at the wyvern, her mind trying to tell her it wasn't possible but her heart knowing her precious Leopold had found her. “Told you I'd bring you something nice from Orlais,” Carver chuckled, immensely proud of his present.

She threw herself at Carver, wrapping her arms around his neck in a fierce hug and kissing his cheek that had the man tensing and flushing as Sera whistled. Ebrisa had questions – _so_ many questions – but she could wait to find out what in the world Leopold was doing outside the Free Marches later. The enchanter released Carver and dropped back to her feet, hurrying over to the cart and climbing on the wheel spokes to get to the wyvern's head. “Leopold,” she called softly, running a hand between his eyes to coax him awake.

The beast was cold to the touch and fear gripped Ebrisa's heart, squeezing away the happiness she'd felt just a moment ago. In a panic, she pulsed her magic through him to check vitals, praying for a response, and feeling only a little better when a considerably slowed heartbeat was detected. “Too cold, its too cold.” Ebrisa looked around desperately, seeking some sort of relief from the frozen air, and jumped back to the ground. She quickly got the attention of the two horses that were still attached to the cart and urged them forward with only words and hand gestures, having no time to fumble with reigns.

“Master Harrit! I need your help!” Ebrisa stopped the cart as close to the smithy as possible, climbing inside in a manner very unladylike and possibly flashing her smalls to a worker or two, but not caring at that moment. The tarps that had been covering Leopold were a thick leather, not much for warmth on their own, but sturdy and good insulators, and she began tossing them over the half-wall.

“What the blazes?” Harrit looked from the growing pile to the creature in the cart. “You... want me to skin it? I gotta admit, its not really my forte to create the _material_ for armor.”

“He's alive,” Ebrisa shot back, shoving another tarp to the ground.

“So, we need to kill it then?”

“We need to _save_ him, Master Harrit!” She looked him in the eye, her panic and concern obvious, and the man instantly regretted his question. “Leopold is coldblooded and the mountains are too freezing for him – its why I told him to stay in Kirkwall.” Ebrisa turned her attention back to the wyvern, gently trailing her hand along his thick neck. “Why didn't you stay?”

Harrit turned back to the hide laying in the dirt. “You need these heated up?”

“Yes!” Ebrisa snapped her head back up. “Yes, yes, please.”

The blacksmith waved his assistants over and they began arranging the hide around the forge, heating them to the very brink of smoking. One by one the hide was carried with sets of tongs back to the cart and tossed over the wyvern, Ebrisa adjusting their positioning and tugging them into place. The stable hand had the sense to detach the horses and guide them away from the cart before they got too agitated and in the back of her mind, Ebrisa felt bad for ignoring the mounts.

With the heated hides covering the wyvern as much as possible, Ebrisa took Leopold's head in her lap and stroked it from filed horn to broken fin, racking her brain for some type of spell that could help warm him short of setting the poor thing on fire. “Why didn't you stay?” She murmured again. Leopold shifted and huffed out a breath, then took a short inhale of cold air. He went still again, then sniffed twice more before opening his eyes and trying to find the source of the familiar scent. Ebrisa sat on his left side, his blind side, and shifted forward to lay on his neck in as good a hug as she could manage under the circumstances. “You big, lovable, dummy,” she choked out, on the verge of tears. “What were you thinking, huh?”

Leopold rumbled in reply, nudging her legs with his head until she lay on her side and settled down against her hip. He released a pleased sound, contented and happy, and Ebrisa had her answer; he had missed her. He couldn't have crossed the Waking Sea like she had, which meant the wyvern traveled by land and crossed several countries alone – something that was just as potentially lethal as his destination itself. Wyverns were territorial and thrived in the more rural areas of Orlais like the Exalted Plains, which was also seeing heavy fighting due to the civil war, and the likelihood of Leopold being killed by man or beast was extremely high. If he had died in his mad attempt to find her, Ebrisa didn't know how she could have possibly forgiven herself. How he had figured out where she was or how to get to her, Ebrisa had no idea, but was immensely glad that Carver had spotted Leopold and brought him the rest of the way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
“You brought a wyvern to Haven?” Josephine worked hard to keep her expression pleasant. “To... bolster our forces?”

Cullen snorted at the idea, his reaction not deterring Carver's reply. “That wouldn't really work. This wyvern has a fairly singular mind.”

“Might I inquire as to your reason?” The Antivan darted her eyes to the fuming Cassandra. “It was likely a controversial decision.”

“He brought the beast for Ebrisa,” Cullen answered, smirking lightly. “She tried to leave him back in Kirkwall, but Leopold is far more devoted than I gave him credit for.”

“Leopold?” Leliana narrowed her eyes a fraction. “Wasn't that Duke Prosper's pet?”

“Indeed it was,” Cassandra cut in. “It appears that Varric did not divulge everything that happened at Chateau Haine and the Champion-” she paused, glancing at Carver, “-the _Champion of Kirkwall_ captured the wyvern as a sort of trophy.”

“That's not what happened,” Carver grunted. “Ebrisa was nice to the thing and he followed her home.”

Josephine giggled softly behind her hand. “You make this Leopold sound like a stray puppy.”

“You will certainly get that impression when you see the two of them together,” Cullen chuckled. “Ebrisa seems to have a knack for turning fierce creatures into balls of clay in her hands.”

“Yes,” Leliana hummed, fixing the commander with a pointed look and a raised brow. “I had noticed that.”

“You all are missing the point; we can not keep a beast like that in Haven!” Cassandra thumped her hand on the table. “Besides the fact that the hulking creature could easily rip a man in half, wyvern venom is deadly and we have no access to the ingredients needed for the antidote. It is _unsafe_.”

Cullen shrugged, unconcerned. “Ebrisa's a skilled healer and has already devised an alternative antidote once before, so I'm confident she could do so again. As for tearing people apart? It was my experience in Kirkwall that Leopold only became violent when provoked.” He paused to look Leliana squarely in the eye, making sure she understood the meaning behind his words as he continued. “So long as no one makes a go at him or Ebrisa, everything should be perfectly fine. He's very protective.”

“Yes,” Leliana replied in just as even a voice. “I had noticed _that,_ too.”

Leliana understood that Cullen had not been speaking in the general sense, essentially threatening the spymaster with bodily harm should she make a move against the enchanter, and he understood that Leliana knew it would not just be the wyvern that would come after her. The tension between them was not as bad as it once was, but the commander was still guarded around her, especially when there weren't other people about to act as a buffer.

Their silent, discreet stare-down was interrupted by Josephine, now moving on to the implications of housing the creature. “Is Leopold very recognizable? I'm uncertain what our Orlesian guests might think of us harboring the killer of Prosper de Montfort.”

“Duke Prosper prided himself on keeping his pet in pristine condition with polished armor and an elaborate riding saddle. Most guests couldn't see past the teeth and gold leafed plating.” The spymaster turned to Carver. “As I recall, Ebrisa did her best to remove those at Prosper's final garden party.”

“Yeah,” the Champion slowly confirmed, trying to recall if he'd seen Leliana there all those years ago. “Leopold doesn't have any of that anymore.”

“Then I think we're safe.”

The matter settled – though Cassandra was still put off by being lied to and wondered what else the dwarf had kept to himself – the group went on to discuss the trip to Val Royeaux. Cullen was disappointed, though not surprised, by the last templar hold outs finally breaking away and abandoning the capital. Leliana had tried to discover Lord Lucius' plan for the Order, but the reports coming in only raised more questions. Still, contact had been made with both the templar and mage leaders, Grand Enchanter Fiona having caught Carver before he left the Summer Bazaar. It was a step in the right direction, but only a step.

Cullen called out to Carver when the meeting was adjured, pulling him aside to speak privately as the women left the room. “I wanted to thank you for finding Leopold,” Cullen began. “It broke Ebrisa's heart to leave him behind. He's very precious to her.”

“It was actually him that found me.” Carver ruffled his hair, smiling awkwardly at the memory. “There we were, on the road heading back, and this massive thing just pounces from the treeline towards us. Cassandra had her sword out before the rest of us recovered, but luckily I was able to recognize the wyvern and stop her.” He winced a little. “I had to tackle her, which probably added to her grumpiness.”

A chuckle seeped out of Cullen as he pictured the sturdy man flying at the seeker and smashing her to the ground. Cassandra was no delicate flower, but Carver would be heavy, even by her standards. “Which resulted in Ebrisa tackling you, though not as aggressively.”

Carver's eyes widened, realizing the commander had seen the woman not only embrace him, but kiss him as well. “I-it didn't mean anything! It was the heat of the moment and I didn't, that is, she just-”

“Relax, Carver, I know.” Cullen shook his head, smirking in amusement. “You just wanted to make her happy, and you did. You're a good friend.”

The Champion let out a breathy laugh, trying to release the sudden tension and panic he had felt at what he thought was a confrontation. Cullen's hands resting easily on his pommel hadn't exactly helped either. “Right. Well, thank you.”

With a final nod, Cullen left the Chantry to join Ebrisa and find out exactly what her plans were for the big, scaly guard dog.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The most pressing question finally answered: WHAT ABOUT LEOPOLD?!  
> Originally, I wasn't going to have our lizard-puppy arrive until everyone got to Skyhold, but then I realized I could [spoiler omitted] and [spoiler omitted] and it would be so funny if [spoiler omitted]!


	8. Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda sorta nsfw-ish maybe at the end? I mean, not really, but... just in case...

Every spare moment Ebrisa had in the clinic was spent doing needlework. She had commissioned Harrit for what was essentially a horse blanket for Leopold made with some of the great bear hide Carver had brought back from the Hinterlands. The hide was thick and warm with the fur still attached and as soon as it was done the enchanter bundled up the heavy piece and lugged it back to her quarters. Her needle was thick and the gauge of the silverite thread was larger than she would have liked, but Ebrisa used them anyways and embroidered the cloak with simple fire runes.

There were some Tranquil in Haven, but few of them had enchanting experience and those who did knew only the basics. By stitching the design into the material itself, Ebrisa was not only providing a blueprint, but ensuring the warmth would flow through the entire piece.

“This is most unusual,” Gaelynn, the Tranquil Ebrisa had borrowed from kitchen duty, stood in the smithy mixing the lyrium powder with the molten silverite. The cloak was laid out across several workbenches, the rest of the day's crafting put on hold.

“Right you are,” Harrit sighed, glancing up at the ceiling. “But if this keeps that beast off my roof day in and day out, then I'm willing to see it through.”

The smithy was the warmest place in Haven and Leopold had spent every moment there just to survive, most of them on the metal sheeted roof. The wyvern made much of Haven nervous, but those who had come from Kirkwall were considerably more relaxed and ensured others that Leopold was mostly harmless, though they always leaned on _mostly_ a bit too much for anyone to believe them. Still, there was something about having such a dangerous creature keeping watch that made the residents feel a little safer.

“I really appreciate you doing this – both of you.” Ebrisa stood off to the side, anxiously watching as Gaelynn began working. The molten mixture blended with the stitching, merging them into solid lines as she carefully filled each stroke of the runes in the proper order. She moved methodically around the garment, tracing over Ebrisa's embroidery with steady hands and improvised tools. These were not conditions any of them were familiar with and each person had doubts about whether or not it would even work, but none dared voice them.

“It is done.” Gaelynn stepped back, her mixture depleted, and nodded towards the other woman. “Enchanter, the runes are ready to be activated.”

“Let's try it on then.” Ebrisa called out for Leopold and the roof creaked, followed by scratching and then a booming thud as the wyvern landed on the ground just outside the smithy. “I know it doesn't look pretty,” she began, then whipped around to wince at Harrit, “not that it wasn't made to my exact specifications by a very skilled blacksmith,” Harrit chuckled lightly and waved away her concern, “but this will help.” Ebrisa held up the cloak, looking into Leopold's good eye. “I promise.”

The wyvern lowered his belly to the ground, growling in discomfort at the frozen dirt, and waited patiently for Ebrisa to get the garment in place. She patted his leg when he could stand and began securing the padded straps that held the material close to his belly and working the toggles that closed the flap at his neck. Once the cloak was on and Leopold wasn't showing any signs of discomfort, Ebrisa took a breath to steady herself and activated the runes. The wyvern straightened at the sudden warmth, then lowered his head and rumbled happily.

Ebrisa giggled at the reaction, rubbing her hand along the split in his mandible. “I take it that means this worked.” Leopold nipped at her hand and skirt, his affection and appreciation making the woman laugh further and the nearby onlookers to watch all the closer. “Why don't you meet me at the clinic? I built a fire on the rocks outside to warm them up, just for you.” The wyvern swished his tail excitedly before bounding off along the log wall and making his way to the cliff that merged with Haven's fortifications.

“I'm afraid I will have to ask for Leopold to continue sleeping overhead, Master Harrit.” Ebrisa smiled apologetically at the blacksmith, expression too sweet and pleading for the man to possibly refuse. He waved a hand dismissively and began to move the workbenches back in place. Gaelynn jumped in to help, the two of them silently excusing Ebrisa and the enchanter walked off with a giddy bounce in her step towards the gate.

Cullen intercepted her exit, cutting her off from the village proper. “I feel as though I should be jealous that someone else has made you so happy, but I'm too awestruck by the smile on your face to harbor anything so negative.” He stroked her cheek lovingly, smiling softly himself. “If it were in my power, you'd always look like this.”

She giggled quietly, flitting her eyes away briefly before meeting his again. “You already have exceptional power over me, Commander. Any more, and I'm afraid I'd be too lightheaded to function in your presence.”

“Well, we certainly can't have that,” Cullen chuckled as he leaned in. His lips pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, hot breath warming her chilled skin as he continued. “I prefer you functioning, Enchanter.”

 

Rylen looked skyward and gave a small shake of his head as he walked out of earshot from the couple, not sure if they realized the scene they were making. Knowing that Cullen would be preoccupied for at least a little while, Rylen stepped in and began issuing orders and taking reports, already planning the jabs he was going to make later when passing them along to the commander.

A small chunk of wood flew through the air and bounced off his helmet, tinking softly and drawing his attention to the training dummies at the edge of the sparring grounds. Cassandra Pentaghast raised her sword and swung again, something that was by no means an unfamiliar sight. In fact, she was such a silent fixture of the area that she might as well have been a wooden figure herself. She was always very diligent with her sword practice, putting just as much effort into her swings with the blunted weapon as she would with her true blade in a real battle, but today she seemed especially determined to have her defenseless opponent meet his rooted Maker.

“Well then,” Rylen called out as he approached, wanting to be sure she was fully aware a person was entering her vicinity, “and here I was concerned that with the wyvern gone, our green recruits would have nothing ferocious nearby to keep them in line.”

Cassandra gave him a withering glare, then returned to practice.

“Let me guess: the eejit looked at you sideways and this is how you dish out laldies?”

She dropped her stance and stood back, shoving the sword point into the frozen ground as she ran through what few Starkhaven words she knew to decipher what the man had just said. “Perhaps it simply reminded me of you,” Cassandra offered dryly, folding her arms and waiting for him to leave her alone.

Rylen ignored the obvious hint and practically visible wall the seeker was trying to construct and stepped closer, examining the training dummy. He whistled lowly after his inspection and nodded in approval. “He's definitely a handsome bloke. I can see the resemblance.”

“I was referring to the _dummy_ aspect.”

The templar pulled back and set a hand on his hip, as though offended. “Careful now, you'll damage my poor, fragile, manly pride.” Cassandra almost smirked, hiding the action by retrieving her sword. “So what is it really that's gotten you so scunnered that even wooden men need thorough skelpings?”

She didn't respond right away, looking over to the golden Kirkwall couple before returning focus to the training dummy. “I do not enjoy being lied to.”

“I would think that's a prerequisite for your position,” Rylen chuckled, earning him another glare.

“Are you saying it is part of my job to be told falsehoods?”

He shook his head and moved the reports in his hand in a circle, as though backing up the conversation. “I meant the not liking it. Wouldn't be a very reliable Seeker of Truth if you weren't so bothered by lies.”

The Nevarran gave a short hum and pursed her lips briefly in thought. “No, I suppose not.”

“Is this about Leopold, or something else?” Rylen tilted his head, trying to read the woman. “Didn't you go to Kirkwall? You should have met the big guy there.”

“I did not inspect the entirety of the grounds,” Cassandra muttered, shooting him an annoyed look that held none of her earlier disdain. “The wyvern is just one example. Though I was aware of something because of the letter Cullen wrote to Justinia, Varric mentioned nothing of the commander's relationship either, so what else did he hide from me? An exclusion of the truth is just as bad as a lie.”

Rylen chuckled again. “For _those_ details, you need to read the book.”

She shook her head, narrowing her kohl lined eyes in irritation. “There is nothing in _The Tale of the Champion_ about Commander Cullen and Enchanter Ebrisa.”

“I didn't mean that one.” Rylen smirked, glancing over his shoulder at the couple in question. “Its not as... proper a read as Varric's more famous Kirkwall works, but he did pen a few stories about those two called _Silk and Steel_. I think Marian and Garrett still have their copies, so when they get back you can ask them about it.” He turned to look at Cassandra again, surprised to see the woman staring at the couple with wide eyes and an almost awestruck expression.

“Ser Collin Hafterford and Enchantress Risa are _real_?” She slapped a hand over her mouth, realizing she'd spoken out loud, and slowly drew her eyes to Rylen. He stared at her with just as much open surprise and before he could close his mouth to start forming words, Cassandra straitened and pulled her fierce persona back on. “Do not breathe a word of this to anyone.”

He nodded numbly, still recovering from the very unexpected revelation. “Aye,” he mumbled, barely able to form the simple response.

“Good. If not-” Cassandra resumed her fighting stance and lined up her blade, thrusting the blunted weapon almost all the way through the wooden torso of the training dummy with a very threatening sounding shout. She took a step back, sword still swaying from side to side in its new home, and locked eyes with Rylen. “If not, there will be consequences.”

The seeker walked away, her warning sitting in the pit of Rylen's stomach like the practice sword in the dummy that had supposedly reminded Cassandra of him in the first place. After standing alone in the snow for far too long, Rylen let out an awkward laugh and returned to duty with one phrase circling in his mind.

_Holy shit._

~~~~~~~~~~~  
Josephine Montilyet had never given Ebrisa any reason to feel unwelcomed or concerned. The Antivan was the absolute picture of diplomatic grace, handling even the most unruly guest with calm and endearing charm. Ebrisa liked to imagine that the educated woman had no part in her initial imprisonment or the plan to hide her from Cullen, though she never asked for fear of being told otherwise, and believed Josephine would continue to act as the voice of reason for the Inquisition. Ebrisa never had any reason to distrust Josephine, but that didn't stop the anxiety from twisting in her stomach when she was summoned to a meeting.

It had come suddenly without time to prepare or ask questions about what it was regarding and the runner that escorted Ebrisa seemed a little more heavily armed than necessary, making it considerably harder for the enchanter to not think the worst. Muffled voices from the war room in the back of the Chantry mixed and echoed, words staying confidential by sheer incoherence, but the owners were still decipherable enough for Ebrisa to realize Josephine was among them.

The fact that it was not a private conversation, but a war council meeting made the enchanter feel both relieved and terrified. She hadn't thought she'd done anything wrong to lose her position or be thrown back in the dungeons, but any number of false accusations could have been made against her that warranted being addressed. Leliana and Cassandra were always so serious around her and she could never gauge what they were really thinking, but with Cullen and Carver in the room, she would have at least some support.

The runner knocked on the door, then pulled it open and motioned Ebrisa inside, shutting it behind her. The conversation stopped when the door clanged, all pairs of eyes but one looking at her curiously. Josephine smiled and waved her closer to the table, the gesture somehow erasing the worry that had built up inside the woman during her short journey from the clinic.

“Marvelous timing, Enchanter Ebrisa, we were just discussing the Fallow Mire.” The Antivan flipped through her writing board and withdrew a note, handing it over to the newcomer. “As you know, we have been sending scouting parties to various locations in search of rifts for the Champion of Andraste to mend. Our people in the Fallow Mire ran into some problems and I was hoping you could assist with one.”

“Scout Greenhome reports that Avvar have taken our people prisoner,” Cullen shot Josephine a baffled look before directing his attention back to Ebrisa, “but I don't know how you could help with that.”

She shook her head, reading the note a second time. “This sickness... it took out all of Fisher's End?”

“Some abandoned their homes before they fell ill, but the village is essentially a ghost town.” Leliana shifted her weight slightly, watching the enchanter study the field report. “That is likely why the Avvar moved in.”

“And the Avvar are unaffected?” Ebrisa looked up from the document, brow furrowed. “Perhaps it is an illness of their own that they unwittingly spread?”

“The issue is not where it came from, but who has fallen prey to it.” Josephine motioned back to the note, solemn expression in place. “It would seem that our people were just beginning to show signs of illness. You have proven yourself a competent healer and apothecary, as you claimed to be, and I was hoping you might be able to devise a remedy for this illness that we could send into the field.”

Ebrisa hummed uncomfortably, scouring the information in her hand once again. “There aren't enough details here for me to determine the strain. As it is now, I can't do anything.”

Cassandra huffed in frustration, hating the idea of losing people to an invisible enemy. “Then we will just have to try everything when we bring them back and hope for the best.”

“If they are already ill, they might not survive the journey,” Josephine said softly, voicing what everyone was thinking.

“I said I couldn't do anything as it is now, but if I had more information on the progression of the illness, samples to examine, then I'm certain I could work something out.” Ebrisa set the note flat on the table, looking over all the little markers set across the map until she found the Fallow Mire. “If I go with, I should be able to get our people well enough to make it back to Haven, at the very least.”

“You want to go to mucky, barbarian filled swamp lands?” Carver stared at her incredulously. “I barely want to go, and the place is only a step or two up from where I was raised.”

She frowned slightly, brushing a hand over the map. “I don't _want_ to go, I need to. Those people – _our people –_ might not make it if I don't get a treatment ready as soon as possible, and if the only way to do that is to wade through thigh-high sludge in the pouring rain, so be it.”

“That is... good of you,” Cassandra stuttered, clearly surprised by the loyalty the organization had done nothing to earn. “Would you be able to gather the proper supplies for a departure at first light?”

“I believe so.” Ebrisa began writing a mental checklist, trying to discern what she would need to set up a work station in a marsh.

Josephine sighed in relief, darting her quill across the writing board. “Excellent. I will make the proper arrangements for mounts and rations and inform Scout Harding of your intentions. Master Adan can fill in for you at the clinic while you are away, so do not concern yourself about Haven.”

A sense of belonging settled over the enchanter as the discussion continued and more details were hammered out. She looked around the room at the people who were putting their faith in her to save the ill soldiers and stopped at the end of the table, locking eyes with Cullen for the first time since suggesting she go on the mission. He tried to maintain a neutral posture and pretend to be listening to the rest of the meeting, but Ebrisa could tell by the tension in his jaw and the flaring in his eyes that he was absolutely livid.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Ebrisa was excused as soon as the business with the Fallow Mire was concluded, but the meeting dragged on for another hour. She returned to the clinic and began going through her grimoires, searching for spells and recipes that she could use as a starting point to combat the plague in an effort to save time. She could research and work on theories on the ride, assuming the horse didn't jostle around too much, and set markers in the pages to make it easier to find what she needed later. Despite the unfortunate circumstances that offered this chance to prove herself, Ebrisa was excited to have such an important task resting on her shoulders. Her younger self would have been terrified and intimidated, second guessing every decision she made, but that's not who she was any more.

A recruit came to her complaining of an injured wrist and the woman set everything aside to take a look. She'd barely finished determining that there was no break or sprain when the clinic door opened with an unnecessary amount of force. Cullen stood there, blocking out the golden light from the setting sun with his hulking frame. His eyes bore right into the healer, but he spoke to the patient. “ _Out_.”

The soldier retracted his hand from Ebrisa's grip, holding it securely against his chest. “You know, this is feeling so much better now.” He sidestepped to the door and slipped through as soon as Cullen moved inside.

The commander slammed the door closed, almost catching the retreating man, and Ebrisa jumped right into her protest. “Cullen, you can't kick out my patients like that.”

“Why not?” Cullen folded his arms in defiance. “You made it clear that you have no issue with abandoning them earlier.”

“Now that's not fair, and you know it,” Ebrisa huffed. “The situation in the Fallow Mire is far more dire than it is here and Master Adan – while not as experienced or willing – is a competent healer. I am _not_ abandoning anyone.”

He snorted and rolled his eyes. “Oh, so what would you call shirking your responsibilities and running off for some excitement the first chance you get?”

“That's not what I'm doing!”

“Then tell me what the fuck you _think_ you're doing!”

Ebrisa pulled back a bit in shock, eyes widening as Cullen's continued to glare. They had argued before, raised voices before, but he had never used profanity against her and she didn't know how to respond to the venom except with some of her own. “You know exactly what I'm doing,” she snapped back. “I'm going out in the field to save _your_ men, just like I do here, and just like I did back in Kirkwall.”

“Are you implying the captive soldiers being sick is a failing of mine?” Cullen scoffed at the idea.

“Maybe,” she muttered, uncertain how much she truly believed it. “If they had been told about what had happened to Fisher's End, then the party would have taken more tonics with them that could have stopped the illness before it took root. But they weren't prepared, and now I have to go there and set things right.” Ebrisa pushed an imaginary lock of hair out of her eyes, rubbing her hand across her face. “It appears I've made a career of it.”

“I didn't _ask_ for you to clean up after me.”

That hurt more than Ebrisa thought it should and she had to swallow the pain down before responding. “That doesn't mean it doesn't need to be done from time to time.”

“Well, pardon me for being an incompetent, country bumpkin.” Cullen dropped into a mock bow, raising his head to look back at the woman. “Please excuse this Fereldan Turnip, Lady Trevelyan. He just doesn't understand the proper way to do anything.”

Ebrisa's hand was up and reared back for a slap before she could think, but managed to clench it into a fist and pull it back down before it flew across his smug face. Cullen had never poked fun at her lineage before, especially since he was there when Bann Trevelyan disowned her and knew how much she had been devastated by it. He had bent the rules to help her then, stayed with her on the beach longer than they should have, and did his best to try and console her. To throw the lost title at her now... “I am not _Lady Trevelyan_ , but I do have work to do.” She brushed past Cullen and returned to the pile of supplies she was arranging. “There is much to prepare before I leave tomorrow, so if you could kindly excuse yourself, I would be grateful.”

Cullen returned to his full height, but didn't leave. “I was not aware one could learn to defeat Avvar warriors in a night. Tell me, how _do_ you plan on taking them down? Do you have a staff anymore? Or armor? When was the last time you were even _in_ a fight?”

Ebrisa unconsciously rested her hand on her stomach, over the jagged scar that still haunted her, and wordlessly gave her answer. The night of the Gallows' annulment had been filled with fighting, blood, and death – her own almost included – and though Ebrisa was there, she had not truly joined in. She hid, like a coward, around the corner as Meredith went mad and the red lyrium performed impossible feats. Statues came to life and flung Cullen and Hawke's party around the entry yard like they were nothing and all Ebrisa could do was place barriers and give support from a distance. Her lack of battle experience had left her open and Meredith skewered her with that accursed sword without anyone seeing.

“I can borrow a staff from one of the mages here,” she answered quietly, slowly pulling herself back from the memory. “And I'll find something appropriate to wear.” Her voice had regained its volume and she her confidence, turning from the workbench to look Cullen in the eye. “Most of my time will be spent at the already established forward camp, working. I don't intend on doing any fighting, and-”

“-That's not a guarantee you won't end up in one,” Cullen cut in.

“What happened to that confidence you had in me when you pulled your guard detail from the clinic?” Ebrisa took a step forward, squaring her shoulders and preparing for the commander's continued assault. “I'm out of practice, but I'm not an invalid and I won't be alone! I'm not as fragile as you think I am!”

“But I might be!” Cullen seemed surprised by his own words, body tensing as he clamped his mouth shut. The silence that followed gave both of them the time they needed to process what they had been doing, to think about why they were acting out.

“Cullen...” Ebrisa spoke softly, uncertain what to follow it with, but needing him to hear the gentleness in her voice after so much anger.

“You didn't come back,” he began, barely above a whisper. “The last time you left me for a supposedly safe mission to help someone, you didn't come back.”

“No, Cullen, I did.” She crossed the space between them, running her hands through his hair and down his cheeks. “I came back. I'm right here, aren't I?”

He caught her hands, holding them firmly against his cheeks and relishing in their warmth. “It broke me, Ebrisa. The thought of you dead, of you taken away from me forever... I couldn't handle it.” He took in a shaky breath, closing his eyes. “I was so tempted to give up and go back to the lyrium, to erase the pain and focus only on killing demons, but the knowledge that lyrium would eventually steal my memories, that it would rob me of my last connection with you...” He opened his eyes, smiling sheepishly. “Not to mention that you would have been very disappointed in me. I think your scolding voice in my head is what kept me from breaking my resolve.”

“I don't have a scolding voice,” Ebrisa mumbled.

“Ask anyone who spent time at the Gallows and they will tell you otherwise.” Cullen chuckled soundlessly as she began to pout, releasing her hands to draw his thumb over the pursed lips. “I'm not complaining. I adore every sound you make.”

“Even when I'm yelling at you?”

He stilled his movements and looked away, ashamed. “I shouldn't have said those things to you. I was just so... incredibly frustrated. As the commander, I knew your plan was the best option, but I didn't want you to go. I thought, if it could be called thinking, that I might be able to guilt you into changing your mind.” Cullen stepped away, rubbing his neck. “It was the wrong approach, and I... I'm sorry for what I said. I was scared of losing you again, and I just... my head wasn't on straight.”

Ebrisa followed after him, pulling his arm down and looking up into his eyes. “You'll never lose me, not if I can help it.”

He smiled, a brief moment of happiness, then lowered his eyes and sighed. “Its those outside factors that concern me.”

The woman looked away as well, trying to find the right words to soothe his justified, yet unfounded, worry. Her eyes roamed over her workbench at the pile of supplies, then up the wall to the shelving and settled on a jar of newly acquired venom. An idea struck her so suddenly that she actually gasped, the quiet sound drawing Cullen's attention. “I know that you can't come yourself, but would you feel better if I had another escort?” Ebrisa turned to him, seeing his curiosity peaked. “It would do Leopold a world of good to stretch his legs and get out of the snow for a while.”

The wyvern had proven his loyalty to Ebrisa time and time again, putting his own life on the line to protect her on more than one occasion. If the sight alone of the large beast didn't ward off enemies, then his teeth and claws were certain to keep the enchanter safe. Cullen smiled again, clearly approving of the guard detail, and swept the woman up into his arms. Ebrisa squeaked in surprise, the sound morphing into a quiet laugh. “Does this mean we stopped fighting?”

Cullen smirked, adjusting his hold. “It does. Now we move on to the making up.” His lips found her neck, kissing and sucking the skin, feeling her gasp against his hair. Ebrisa wrapped her arms around his neck for support, moving her legs to do the same against his middle, and reveling in the feeling of being so carefully handled in such a firm grip. She tilted his face up with one hand, tearing his mouth from her reddening skin to seal her own over it in what she hoped was a passionate kiss.

Cullen shifted a hand lower, settling it on Ebrisa's rear and giving it a light squeeze that had her pulling away from the kiss. She stared at him with such a baffled look that he cleared his throat awkwardly and looked at the ceiling briefly. “That was, uh, for balance.”

She blinked a few times, then flushed and looked away herself. “Balance is very important. I... I like when you _balance me_.”

He smirked, repeating the action and watching her breath hitch. “I'll keep that in mind.” Cullen kissed her again, sweeping his tongue inside and sliding it against hers as he carried her to the nearest flat surface for, ironically, actual balance. With Ebrisa now flush against a wall, Cullen slipped his arm from her back and moved it across her body, sliding over her thigh and up her side, sweeping over her torso just below her breast. He followed the curve of it, tracing the mound of confined flesh without actually touching it and swallowing the tiny, pleading moans the woman in his arms was making.

Cullen pressed his palm flat on her ribs, then slowly slid upward until he was cupping the bound weight of her breast in his hand. He squeezed gently, kneading the plump flesh, and Ebrisa arched her back in response, pressing into his touch and raising up higher on the wall. Cullen broke from her mouth so he could hear her, stroking her breast from edge to center, but avoiding the hardening bud that was beginning to press into the fabric of her dress.

“Cullen,” she panted in an airy voice, not entirely certain it was her own. “Cullen, please...”

He leaned in close, pressing his armored body against her hot, soft figure, and smirked against the skin of her neck. “How can I say no when you asked so nicely?” His thumb brushed over her nipple at the same time that he sucked hard on her neck, Ebrisa releasing a loud mewl from the back of her throat and arching against the wall, raising up higher than before. Too high.

She smacked a shelf with her head, knocking it off it's peg and sending the entire row of glass and earthen jars to the floor with a loud, messy crash. The couple froze, mortified that the noise would draw outside attention, and quickly tried to untangle themselves. Ebrisa had somehow managed to get a foot caught in Cullen's tunic, the two of them struggling to get her free in their panic, and Cullen ended up tossing the woman over his shoulder to get a better angle.

To their relief, no one came to the door. It occurred to Ebrisa that it may have been from how Cullen had entered the clinic in the first place or the fact that their argument hadn't exactly been quiet. She flushed, wondering how many people had heard their spat, then reddened further at the possible number that had heard their making up.

“Oh, Maker,” she groaned into Cullen's mantle, still hanging over his shoulder.

“It's not that big of a mess,” he chuckled, almost getting her snagged boot buckle free of his clothing.

“No, its just...” Ebrisa looked around, furthering her fears when she saw the open window. “I need to pay better attention to my surroundings.”

“You should,” Cullen agreed, glancing to the woman beside his head. He gave her rear a sudden squeeze, Ebrisa yelping and wiggling in response. “I pay excellent attention to mine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, writing Cullen being mean is hard! He seems so ooc, but... kinda had to be?
> 
> If a commanding Cullen is more your thing, go read my beta's work [Into Darkness, Unafraid](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11695659/chapters/26332074)


	9. Heading Out

The Trevelyans were well known throughout the Free Marches for their skill with horses, both in breeding and riding. Generations of the house began taking lessons from the moment they could grip the reins, but only learned to control the animals after they learned to care for and respect them. Ebrisa, being the youngest, would watch from the stables with a brush in her hand as her siblings practiced trots and aids and eagerly waited for the day she could join them. Despite her devotion to the tasks the horsemaster gave her, that day never came and once her magic began presenting itself, Ebrisa was locked indoors more often than not.

When the time for riding came, Ebrisa was already an adult. She struggled at first, but as the initial journey to Haven wore on the techniques she had observed as a child came back to her as smoothly as though she had been in the saddle herself. Ebrisa helped in the stables from time to time, giving the young Levin a hand when he became overwhelmed, and though her ties to the noble house were severed, Ebrisa was definitely a Trevelyan.

The supplies needed for Ebrisa's travel lab were barely contained within the saddle bags she was given and the books weighed it down to the point she struggled to get it in place on the Fereldan steed she would be using. Master Dennet had sent a few horses back with Carver, but the majority of the team would not be along until later. Cullen was a bit annoyed by the delay, seeing as the Inquisition had already completed their part of the deal and constructed the watchtowers, but assured the others that the sturdy mounts would be well worth the wait.

Ebrisa had been too busy with the clinic and Leopold to spend much time in the stables recently and as such hadn't met any of the new additions. She spent a good fifteen minuets getting acquainted with her assigned horse before she even looked at the saddle, stroking the animal's neck and introducing herself in a soft voice, being sure to thank the mount for all the hard work he was going to be putting in on her behalf.

A familiar, low growling crept up behind Ebrisa, making her turn around to regard Leopold curiously. The wyvern had been circling around the gathered party, understanding that Ebrisa was going to be leaving the snowy village and he was to come along, but as she spent more and more time with the horse, Leopold's excitement shifted to open aggression. The horse whinnied, fighting against Ebrisa's hold on the reins as the creature drew closer.

“Leopold, play nice,” Ebrisa chided softly while trying to calm the horse. “We'll be getting underway soon enough and its important you two are friends.” The wyvern ignored her request, snarling at the already frightened steed before snapping his teeth at it's hide quarters and yanking the saddlebags free. “What are you doing? I need those!” Ebrisa let the skittish horse run back to its pen and turned her full focus on the wyvern, frowning in disapproval. “What did I just say about playing nice?”

He ignored her, dragging the bags across the ground and twisting his neck, trying to place them on his own back. Realizing that it wasn't going to happen, the wyvern set the bags on his tail instead. Leopold turned back to Ebrisa and tilted his head, waiting. She sighed tiredly, in no mood for games, and took a step towards the stables to retrieve her mount. A whining gurgle sounded in her ear just before Leopold dropped his head over her shoulder, tugging her back towards him and keeping her from the horse.

She stepped out of the wyvern's hold to look at his face, reading the micro expressions she'd become so familiar with over the years. A brief glance over her shoulder at the Fereldan mount, then a quick inspection of the captured saddlebags, and she finally understood. “You don't want me to ride that horse, do you?” Leopold gave a rumbling huff in confirmation. “You... want me to ride you?” He swished his tail happily, then stopped, suddenly remembering the cargo he'd deposited there earlier.

Despite the wyvern being trained as a mount, Ebrisa had never entertained the idea of using him as one. Duke Prosper had mistreated him, ignored his care, and Leopold still bore scars from the gilded armor and harness the Orlesian strapped onto him. Ebrisa didn't want to do anything that would remind her friend of the man who used to own him, didn't want to become another cruel human in his eyes, but the wyvern didn't seem to want her to ride any other mount.

“Are you really certain that you want this?” Ebrisa asked gently, stroking the wyvern between the eyes. “You don't have to...” He answered by lowering to the cold ground and swinging his tail, presenting the saddlebags and making a better placement available. Laughing quietly, Ebrisa stepped around the creature and picked up the supplies. “Alright then, but if you change your mind I'll have to double up with someone on a horse and you won't like my attitude when we get back.”

 

Cullen stood to the side as Ebrisa and Leopold had their exchange, fully intending to come to her aid and reposition the seemingly heavy saddlebags onto her new mount, but found himself frozen in place. Ebrisa was wearing armor, as she said she would do, and managed to secure an Inquisition uniform for the mission – or rather, most of one. Threnn was hard pressed to find the normal, baggy breeches that accompanied the unisex outfit and gave Ebrisa a pair of leather leggings instead. It was a small change, all things considered, and the hide would likely provide better protection than the cloth, but at the moment Cullen found it the most significant alteration possible.

He had never seen Ebrisa in pants of any sort before, her lower half usually hiding in the folds of mage robes or beneath padded layers of skirt, and his eyes drew up and down her legs, mapping them carefully. There was a smoothness to her thighs that met the curve of her generous hips perfectly and he watched the muscles shift as she stretched to reach the wyvern's back. Above her thighs, between those hips, was what had to be the most perfect ass Cullen had ever seen. Its shape was accentuated by the tight leggings and if Cullen didn't know better, he'd be certain that her armor was a bit shorter than it should have been, providing an unobstructed view of the curve of her rear even if she didn't have her arms above her head.

The need to touch was overpowering and without realizing it Cullen was already moving towards the woman. He didn't announce himself, body reacting while his brain was scrambling to process, and the commander of the Inquisition's forces reached out and squeezed Ebrisa's butt right in the open. She cried out in surprise, yelping loudly and releasing her grip on the saddlebag, freeing her hands in preparation to slap her molester. Cullen stopped the falling bag with one hand, effectively trapping the woman between his familiar body and the amused wyvern, only then realizing his mistake as he felt the increased number of eyes on them.

“Back to your duties,” he called over his shoulder, not needing to see Rylen there to know the other man would be teasing him about it later. The bustling background noise continued and only then did Cullen move again to right the saddlebags on Leopold's back.

“Why did you do that?” Ebrisa squeaked, face heated from embarrassment and the beginnings of arousal as he pressed against her to secure her supplies.

The man averted his eyes a little in shame, rubbing his neck sheepishly as he finally stepped away to give Ebrisa enough room to turn and face him. “Would you believe that I couldn't help myself? It was just too tantalizing a sight to ignore.”

She dropped her eyes as well, tugging on the padded armor in an attempt to hide and coincidentally confirming Cullen's suspicions about it's length. “And if this sight had belonged to another woman?”

He scoffed at the question, as though offended. “I would never look at another woman, especially not her behind, but I'm certain it would be a trivial matter to ignore.” Cullen pulled Ebrisa to his side, wrapping an arm around her back and sliding it down to caress her leather confined roundness in loving, almost worshipful strokes. “This ass is clearly Maker-sent and none other could possible compare. Might I suggest you wear these leggings all the time? I need to express my proper gratitude for such a gift.”

She smacked his chest, knowing her gloved hand would do nothing to the metal armor, but still needing to hit him after making such a scene. His touch was obstructed from view now, but Ebrisa was certain that if anyone looked at her face with more than a passing glance then they would notice her barely masked pleasure and immediately know what the commander was doing.

Cullen leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Would you rather I stop?” He looked down at the blushing woman, seeing her preparing a response he already knew, and caught sight of a strange discoloration beneath the lowered cowl of her armor. Cullen stopped and broke his embrace, pulling the fabric away further to get a better view as he squinted at the mark. “Ebrisa, are you hurt? What's this bruise?”

A hand flew up to her neck, fingering the mark gently. “This is from you,” she mumbled.

Concern shot through Cullen immediately as he tried to recall what he could have done to hurt her, if he had somehow mishandled her in his anger the night before while trying to convince her to stay. The concern shifted to embarrassment as he realized it had been his passion that marked her instead. He normally had better control of his impulses, but here he was, groping Ebrisa in public and sucking bruises into her flesh. “Oh.” It was all he could manage at the moment, still uncertain how he felt about his transgressions.

“I know that I should have healed it, but...” Ebrisa chewed on her lip and looked up to meet his eyes, holding his gaze with a flicker of desire. “I like being marked by you. It makes me feel... wanted.”

He stared at her in response, once again waiting for his mind to process.

“Is that strange?” She dropped her eyes and tugged at the unfamiliar armor again. “I'll get rid of it now, if you prefer.”

“No!” Cullen surprised himself with how quickly and loudly he answered. The thought of him laying claim to the woman before him filled him with masculine pride and made him think once again of that small bit of metal in his pocket. “No,” he said again in a much calmer voice, cupping her cheek and rubbing a thumb across her heated skin. “You are wanted, needed, and loved, Ebrisa. I would hope that I've expressed that with my words adequately enough, but if you want additional, physical proof to flaunt when duty takes you from my side, then I am more than happy to oblige.”

“I do,” Ebrisa admitted shyly as she looked at him again. “I want everyone to know that I'm spoken for and that the man I love is not ashamed of his affection for me. I want people to see this love bite and know it was you that gave it to me.” She raised up on her toes to bring herself closer, whispering against Cullen's skin as she continued. “I want the world to know you're spoken for, too.”

He wrapped an arm tightly around her waist to pull her flush against him and threaded his fingers into her hair as he kissed her deeply, wordlessly agreeing with all the things she'd said. Cullen by no means wanted to _own_ Ebrisa, he wanted her to make her own choices and decisions, but at the same time he didn't want anyone else to look at her the way he did. He wanted to be the only person to kiss her, to hold her, to whisper sweet nothings in her ear and make her blush. He wanted to keep all of her affections to himself and keep roaming eyes away.

Maybe she should only wear the leggings in private.

A loud, piercing catcall drew his attention and the couple broke apart panting for breath, turning to the noise. “If you're gonna bang her, better duck behind the smithy first!” Sera laughed from her horse, the rest of the traveling party saddled and ready to go. Carver rolled his eyes at the elf's comment and Solas seemed to be amused, but the stoic, fierce Cassandra was a blushing mess. She stared at the couple with wide eyes, almost in awe, and only managed to look away by kicking her mount and starting out down the path.

Cullen and Ebrisa watched the party amble off, Carver grabbing Sera's reins to force her horse to follow, and both felt equally embarrassed for the other. “I hope Rylen doesn't give you too much grief about this. Maker knows the man enjoys torturing you,” Ebrisa mumbled, lifting her cowl in place to help block out the wind.

“I can handle Rylen,” he assured, helping Ebrisa climb up Leopold's back. “Are you going to be alright with that Red Jenny? She doesn't seem to favor propriety.” Cullen was still hard pressed to find a reason why Carver had recruited the random elf and ignored the audience with Monstimmard's first enchanter. It was entirely possible that the Orlesian could have offered her mages to seal the Breach, avoiding the uncomfortable options they had now. Josephine had tried to write the still loyal Circle after Carver explained what happened, but by then the damage was done. _Madame de Fer_ had been slighted and she was not going to demean herself by giving the Inquisition a second chance.

“I don't know her very well, but I didn't get a sense of malice from her.” Ebrisa took hold of the padded strap that kept Leopold's heated cloak in place and adjusted herself on the wyvern's back. “Maybe a few good words in my _scolding voice_ will get her to stop.”

“Maybe,” Cullen chuckled, stepping away and moving to the front of the creature. He leaned in close to Leopold, speaking to him in a lowered tone that prevented Ebrisa from hearing, but the wyvern's head bobbed up and down from time to time. Whatever it was Cullen was saying, Leopold fully agreed.

“What was that about?” Ebrisa tilted her head curiously as Cullen came back to her, giving him her hand when he reached for it.

“Just a gentleman's agreement.” He kissed the back of her hand, smiling against the glove. “Come back to me.”

She giggled lightly as he released her and backed away, allowing Leopold to rise up on his feet once again. “Is that an order, Commander?”

“It most certainly is.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Riding a wyvern was nothing like riding a horse; the gaits were unfamiliar, the muscles in the wrong place, and the movements more akin to a wild cat than any beast of burden. All thoughts of working on the road flew from Ebrisa's mind at Leopold's first pounce from the snow line and she worked extra hard to keep him at the same pace of the others. She could tell from the swiveling of his head that the wyvern would love nothing more than to go bounding after new prey or scurry up the warm cliffs as they passed through the Hinterlands, but the creature remained in formation and his dedication to the task he had begged for only solidified Ebrisa's affection for the animal. She would have to think of something extra nice to do for him when they returned.

Conversing with the others while on a higher perch was also difficult, so every exchange of words Ebrisa had was fairly brief and very loud. The only one who didn't really seem to have a problem with this was Sera and the elf split the topics of conversation between the beast Ebrisa was riding and, as the rogue put it, _the other one she's riding that got left behind._

Ebrisa shrugged lightly at the comment. “Oh, well, I actually haven't ridden any horses since I first got to Haven. The mount I was going to embark with was new to me, so I don't believe he'll be terribly put out.”

Sera shook her head, already snickering. “Not _that_ one, wyvern whisperer. I'm talking about the one with the grumpy voice that marches around giving orders and frowns at everybody but you.”

“Cullen...?” The enchanter furrowed her brow slowly, uncertain how one description lead to the other. “Weren't we just discussing mounts?”

“Tsh, _no_ ,” Sera snorted, rolling her eyes. “We were talking about beasts that you ride.” Ebrisa's face went red as she tried to scramble for a response, leaving Sera wide open to continue. “I mean, boys don't do it for me, but that don't mean I can't recognize a fine piece of Ferelden-grown goods – like Carver over there.” The elf leaned over a little, though her volume didn't drop at all and the entire party could still hear every word. “Think I must have wounded the Champion's pride when I turned him down the other day. Poor guy.”

Ahead of them, Carver was grumbling into his hand, regretting flirting with Sera more now than he did at the time she laughed in his face. Maybe he should have ignored Varric's request to not be dragged through a swamp that could swallow him whole and brought the dwarf anyways.

“So,” Sera continued, missing or ignoring Carver's agitation, “does he make you call him _Commander_ in the sack?”

“Th-that is an entirely inappropriate question and none of your business!” Ebrisa squeaked out her response, voice betraying the stern look she was trying to give the archer. She turned away, refusing to say anything further, and Sera only snickered.

“I didn't hear a _no_.”

 

The majority of conversations were held during the night when they stopped to make camp and Ebrisa took the opportunity to get to know Solas better. They had barely spoken since their initial introductions, despite spending so much time in the same area of Haven, and she was curious to learn more about apostate life. She'd always been told that mages who existed outside the Circle were dangerous and uncontrolled, or tainted by dark magic and demons, but Solas didn't come off that way at all. To be an apostate and an elf without clan or city provided him with such a unique perspective on the world around him and, thankfully, he was not offended by Ebrisa's many questions.

They talked a great deal about the schools of magic and training, Ebrisa unable to remove herself from her Circle and Chantry lessons, but being open-minded enough to accept that there could be other ways to achieve similar goals. When Solas revealed he not only studied the Fade – a dangerous field to pursue alone – but openly conversed with numerous spirits, Ebrisa sat up straighter and sucked in a silent gasp.

Solas's expression remained the same, though a hint of disappointment tainted his tone. “I am aware of the rules you must think I'm breaking, but I assure you that I am in no more danger of possession in the Fade than I am at this very moment.”

“No, Messere Solas, it's not that,” Ebrisa quickly rushed out, leaning forward once again. “I'm a Spirit Healer myself and have several trusted companions whom I've known for years. Ever since I woke up, I haven't been able to connect with any of them. I've felt some of their presence on the edge of my mind as we traveled further and further from the Breach, but I'm very concerned for one of them who has not yet come back.”

Solas studied her expression in the light of the fire, seeing the sincerity and worry etched across her face, and tilted his head a fraction. “Just one?”

She nodded once. “Sympathy and the others have ignored me in the past, but my aunt has been with me near constantly.”

“Your aunt?” The elf rested his elbows on his knees, clearly intrigued.

“She first came to me after I was attacked by a maleficar and she's been in my dreams every night since.” Ebrisa shook her head, pressing her knuckles against her mouth. “I've tried to look for her in the Fade, but I just can't find her. Renata wouldn't leave me without saying anything, and I know she was there when the Breach opened... I just... I don't know what I can do...”

“If you don't mind my asking, what makes you so certain this spirit is your aunt?”

“I thought she was a kindly spirit portraying my mother at first.” Ebrisa smiled softly at the memory, at how foolish she'd been. “I had need of comfort and she provided, looking so much like how I remembered my mother did when I was small. Eventually, she told me bits and pieces of her life and I wrote to another Circle to check the information. That's when I learned who she had been in life and why she was so protective of me in death.”

Solas was quiet for a long while, processing the unexpected information and it's implications. “The Breach is a phenomenon not seen before and it has many on edge, including those who reside in the Fade. Many spirits do not wish to get close for fear of being pulled through and if your aunt was indeed with you when it opened, then I am uncertain what may have become of her.”

“No...” Ebrisa whispered, fear creeping up her throat and strangling her breath.

“I can not guarantee that I can locate her or make any sort of guess as to what I would find if I do, but I promise you I will try.” Solas stood up from the fire, bowing his head slightly in way of excusing himself, and walk away.

Ebrisa watched him disappear into his tent and felt a weight lift from her chest. She had tried and failed to find any information on her aunt and being away from the wealth of knowledge housed in Circles had left her with no way of finding answers. The fractured Chantry had been unable to help and Ebrisa found herself relying on aid of an elven mage trained far, far away from everything she'd known.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So tired from work. I will be immensely glad when Thanksgiving is over and things cool down... until Christmas when the bakery goes crazy again....
> 
> Any time things get a little hot and heavy with Cullen and Ebrisa, I turn to my beta with a mad blush to make sure its okay. The beginning bit did require a bit of adjusting, but [ZuleFandom](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ZuleFandom/pseuds/ZuleFandom) set me straight.


	10. Bog

The Fallow Mire was as dank and miserable as everyone told Ebrisa it would be. The air was stagnant, the sky dark, and a constant mist of rain covered everything in a thin layer of slime, yet somehow people had managed to live there. They fished and harvested studier crops, but the earnings were small and barely supported the villagers that once occupied the moldy shacks. Given the conditions, Ebrisa was actually surprised a plague hadn't hit Fisher's End sooner.

Scout Harding greeted them as they arrived, going over what new information she'd collected since sending her last report, and paused after mentioning the walking corpses that resided in the murky water. “You aren't squeamish about undead, are you?”

Carver tensed, struggling to keep his expression neutral, and it didn't take long for Ebrisa to understand why. The last time either of them had seen a reanimated corpse had been back in Kirkwall when Quentin was trying to restore his wife with stolen parts of other women. Some times Ebrisa could still remember the feeling of the blood magic running through her, could still see her hands strapping down Leandra, could still hear the sorrow clutching Hawke and Carver's voices. He had said he understood Ebrisa's part in his mother's death, but Carver never actually said he forgave her and Ebrisa couldn't help but think that meant he didn't. She took a quiet, shaky breath, wondering if her friend might secretly harbor at least a small amount of hatred for her, and walked away.

“They're certainly not my _favorite_ enemy,” Carver mumbled, watching the enchanter's departure out of the corner of his eye.

As Harding resumed her report and explained their best approximation of rift locations in the area, Ebrisa removed her supplies and began setting up in the workspace she'd requested. The fabric of the canopy wasn't even close to waterproof, but the dips created by the poles did direct the dripping to certain areas Ebrisa was careful to avoid. After all, if a tonic was ineffective due to simple dilution, it would be no one's fault but her own.

Nothing had broken during transit and Ebrisa took a quick inventory once again to ensure she hadn't left anything behind. Haven didn't exactly have a cornucopia of herbs, the cold weather being too inhospitable for most of the more potent plants, but she brought what she could and prayed there would be something local she could forage. Given the wet environment, spindleweed and blood lotus should be readily available, and perhaps she'd be lucky enough to find a helpful variety of moss or mushroom.

Ebrisa began digging through her books in search of _The Botanical Compendium_ to identify local flora, rubbing her forehead anxiously, and didn't hear Carver approach until he was already standing on the other side of the workbench. “You okay?”

“Oh, uh, yes,” she responded quietly, mentally berating herself for not borrowing the book from Adan after all. “And you, Champion? A duel with an Avvar warrior on his own terms seems fairly daunting.” Ebrisa looked up sharply, reminding herself of the other dangers the bog provided. “Did you take that tonic I gave you? We don't know what you'll be walking into, but a boost to your body's natural defenses could make all the difference between staying healthy and falling prey to this sickness as well. It just wouldn't do for the Champion of Andraste to return to Haven ashen and weak.”

Carver furrowed his brow and tightened his lips in an expression just two shades shy of a scowl. “Don't do that, Ebrisa.”

“Do what? My job?” She went back to her saddlebags, kneeling in the almost-mud to better search the deep pouches. “I might have another dose in here...”

He followed her over, folding his arms and sighing. “I drank your nasty potion, okay? But could you not... do that?” She looked up at him curiously, not understanding his issue. “That _Champion of Andraste_ stuff. I know you believe in me and, well, sometimes it feels like you might be the only one who really does, but... could you not... call me that?”

“Oh,” Ebrisa began softly. “Because you still don't believe?”

Carver dropped his arms to wave a hand dismissively, shaking his head to further display his rejection. “Look, if you think I'm somehow special, I'll take your word for it. I mean, if anyone has a clear understanding of Andraste's plan, it's you.” He saw her open her mouth to protest or say something equally humble, but he kept going. “I'll take the title, I'll answer to it, but I don't want it to push you away.”

The enchanter tilted her head slightly, as though the shift in angle would better help her comprehend.

“It took you a long time to abandon titles with your friends and you putting one on me again sort of feels like you're kicking me out.” Carver ruffled his hair and groaned in annoyance. “Maker's Balls, this is just – I earned my spot, didn't I?”

“Spot?”

“In your circle of friends,” he grumbled, suddenly realizing how childish the conversation must sound. “Boon from Andraste or not, if this damned hand is going to set me back to _templar charge_ status, then I don't want it.”

Ebrisa couldn't help but smile at the big, grumpy Fereldan warrior and his concern. She certainly didn't think any less of the man because of the otherworldly magic he now wielded, she simply reasoned that his new calling required a certain level of respect and never considered how that would make him feel. In trying to be proper, she'd isolated the man, and a new pang of guilt thumped against the one already resting in her gut, bringing it back to the surface.

Her smile fell in time with her eyes, the woman now studying the footprints in the soft ground around them. “We never really talked about what happened with your mother after that one discussion in the garden when you came back from leave. Deavelle was very vocal about her feelings, but you never really... do you hate me for my part in that?”

Carver raised his eyebrows in surprise only to shoot them right back down almost angrily. He didn't answer with words right away, opting instead to drop his hand heavily on Ebrisa's head and rub it firmly from side to side, messing with her hair and pushing her down a little further. “Andraste's Ass, of all the idiotic – would I care if you still considered me a friend if I _hated_ you? Is there anything in here besides the Chant and plant nonsense?”

Ebrisa swatted blindly at his hand, looking up at the man when she felt it leave, and found his expression far softer than it had been before the assault.

“Do I really have to spell it out for you after all this time? What happened to Mother wasn't your fault, and I don't blame you for it. You were a victim too, Ebrisa, and you need to forgive yourself for what happened because the rest of us did a long time ago. I know you weren't in control and I know the steps you've taken to make sure you never lose control again.” Carver motioned subtly to the concealed glyph on her back before offering Ebrisa a hand up. Few of the Kirkwall templars knew about the lyrium tattoo their former first enchanter had, the extensive research she did to develop the woven magic, or the excruciating pain she'd suffered to ensure the protection was always with her, but Carver did. “So, friends?”

The woman smiled again, warmer this time, and nodded as he pulled her to her feet. “Friends.”

Leopold, free of the heavy cloak and fragile baggage, ran around the outskirts of the forward camp excitedly, scaring both the local wildlife and the stationed Inquisition troops, but somehow managing to pump up Sera in the process. “Let's get on with it! Those Avvar aren't going to kick their own arses, yeah?”

Harding smirked at the comment, then directed her attention back to Carver. “I'm no expert on barbarians, but she's probably right.”

Carver raised a hand to the group, indicating he'd be with them in a moment, and turned back to the enchanter. “Ready to save some lives?”

She took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “As ready as you are.”

He rolled his eyes a little. “It will probably be best if you're _more_ ready than I am. You've got a much bigger task ahead of you.”

“Then I guess you better leave me alone so I can get to it,” Ebrisa replied with a hint of mock annoyance. “ _Carver_.”

The man smirked and poked her solidly in the forehead. “That's more like it.” He jogged over to the others and they did final inspections on their gear, getting one last run down from Harding before heading out of camp and into the bog.

Left alone to work, Ebrisa got a few tonic bases going before wandering out with her degraded field notebooks to scour the area for local ingredients. Leopold noticed her movement and immediately raced to her side, stopping when he noticed the small knife in her hand and the stalks of elfroot under her arm. He turned around and headed back to camp, returning with the saddlebag in his teeth, open and ready to carry whatever the woman found.

“Thank you, sweetling.” Ebrisa dropped her cuttings inside the bag and gave the wyvern a loving neck rub before returning focus to her surroundings. As she predicted, there was plenty of blood lotus – which wasn't exactly an herb she needed in this sort of situation – but not a sprig of spindleweed in sight and the exclusion caused her some distress. She couldn't combat the sickness with just elfroot and her own limited supplies, or else the locals would have been able to handle the outbreak before it got out of hand.

Leopold broke away from her side suddenly, dropping the bag by a rock formation and screeching out insistently. Ebrisa followed, uncertain what could have gotten the animal so riled up, and watched Leopold lightly claw at the ground, breaking up a network of mushrooms but not damaging the caps. She drew closer, squinting at the fungi, then scrambled with her notebook to the pages she had added at Chateau Haine.

“Drakevein... how...?” The woman began gathering up the mushrooms Leopold had pointed out, unable to fathom how something she thought only grew on one side of the Vimmark Mountians could possibly be thriving in Ferelden. Still, it was something that could help, and finding them gave Ebrisa's luck the nudge it needed to lead her to a hidden patch of dawn lotus – something that would increase the effectiveness of whatever she ended up making.

She started prepping the ingredients right away and checking the bookmarked recipes in her grimoire, comparing what she had on hand with what she would need. There were a few options available, but before she wasted any herbs, she would need to know more about the illness. The report had been vague – speaking of coughing, pale complexion, and fever – but there were a dozen sicknesses with early symptoms like that and in order to get a better idea of what she was dealing with, Ebrisa would need to see a victim.

“I know this sounds a little morbid,” Ebrisa began wearily as she approached the dwarf who had debriefed them, “but I don't suppose there are any bodies I can examine?”

“Let me show you.” Harding lead Ebrisa out of camp and down to a bonfire by a cluster of empty shacks. “There were quite a few bodies when we arrived – some people even locked inside their homes – and we thought it best to burn them.” The scout winced, scrunching up her nose to further the uncomfortable expression. “We didn't do something that will hold you back, did we?”

Ebrisa sighed quietly at the still burning blaze, expelling her disappointment. “No, you were right to do so; it likely prevented the rest of you from falling ill as well.” The fire had been going for too long and the plague victims too burned for any sort of examination. “Did anyone say a prayer?”

“What?” Harding looked the woman over curiously. “I don't believe so.”

Ebrisa nodded, clasping her hands in front of herself and staring into the fire. She sang from the _Canticle of Transfigurations_ , the stanzas normally recited at funerals, and hoped that the small piece would help ease the victims' passing through the Veil. When she stopped and resumed her normal posture, she found Harding bowing her head reverently and eyes closed.

The silence broke the dwarf from her reprieve and she smiled softly at the blonde woman. “You're the head healer in Haven now, right? Did you get much medical training in the Chantry, sister?”

“I get that question a lot, but no.” Ebrisa looked down at herself, knowing she looked nothing like what she was or what the scout had thought her to be. “I was Kirkwall's first enchanter and I learned most of what I know at the Gallows.”

“Oh,” Harding said softly, mind running through the information she had filed as the small word drew on. “Oh!” She suddenly exclaimed, snapping her fingers as her brain clicked. “With the commander, of course. So you're _that_ mage.”

Being _**that**_ _mage_ held all sorts of connotations – most of them negative – but Ebrisa was not ashamed of who she was, not anymore. “I'm uncertain what you are referring to, but I believe the answer is yes.”

The dwarf chuckled, keying Ebrisa in that she wasn't thinking of anything bad. “That's good to know, ma'am.” The bulk of Harding's humor faded, but she maintained a small degree of levity as she continued. “By the way, there are other bodies floating around we didn't collect, so if you still needed to examine a victim, I think we can oblige.”

“Yes, that would be very helpful,” Ebrisa sighed gratefully.

Harding signaled a squad to follow her and turned back to the enchanter with a smile. “Fair warning, they're going to be a little waterlogged.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Of the three bodies the Inquisition managed to fish out of the bog while fighting back undead, not a single one of them had boils or lesions of any sort not caused postmortem. This excluded several possible sicknesses and the damage to the lungs narrowed the list down further to the point where Ebrisa could settle on a treatment. There were still lots of unknowns and things she couldn't do without a patient right in front of her, but she had a plan and was as ready to receive the captured soldiers as she would ever be.

With the remedy cooking, Ebrisa spent her time packaging tissue samples in hopes of making an elixir to give future scouting parties so this wouldn't happen again. She didn't have the supplies she needed to make it in the field, but was certain Adan would be a tremendous help once they returned to Haven. The gruesome task was done by the time Carver sent word from the other camp that they had defeated the Avvar and were on their way back with the imprisoned scouts. Sera's loud voice could be heard recounting the fight against the _Hand of Korth_ well before anyone could be seen through the fog and the tonics had just finished when the entire group stumbled into camp.

The captured squad were all sick, their coughs now expelling bloody sputum, and many of them were fighting to catch their breath. Ebrisa muffled a concerned whine, wondering if it would have been better for her to go to them instead, and directed the patients into one of the tents. She checked each of them thoroughly, listening to their crackling lungs and feeling their burning skin, and was pleased to see few other major symptoms. The tonic was administered quickly and Ebrisa cast a few minor fire spells to dry their clothes and warm the ground, trying to make them as comfortable as possible and hoping to keep further illness away.

Not all of the patients were suffering the same, however. A few of the soldiers had terrible shakes and nausea, sweating far more than their peers. After asking them a few gentle questions, it came to light that they were templars and had been without lyrium for over a week. They had decreased their rations while in Haven, hoping to stretch the supply for as long as possible given the strained relationship with the Chantry, but the plague had kicked them into full withdrawal and magnified every ache and pain the others were suffering.

Ebrisa found Carver by the requisition officer and thanked Andraste for not having to track the two of them down separately. “I need lyrium for the templar patients. Have you any available?”

The officer said she'd check and hurried away, but Carver stood perfectly still with his arms folded and a confused look on his face. “I haven't had lyrium since I woke up.”

“You mean you didn't take your daily ration?” Ebrisa took the opportunity to check him for early plague symptoms, pressing her hands under his jaw to feel for swelling.

“No, I mean... _since I woke up_.” Carver furrowed his brow. “I haven't taken any lyrium since I stepped out of the Fade.”

“That's impossible,” Ebrisa mumbled, staring at the man incredulously. “You're not in pain, or nauseous, or dizzy, or spiking a fever, or... any of that.” She shook her head, still trying to process the implications. “Carver, how could you not realize this earlier?”

He shrugged lamely, still just as baffled as she was. “I fell out of the Fade and my hand was shooting green lightning. I was a little preoccupied.”

Ebrisa couldn't help but feel disheartened by his reply, because it pointed out the most likely reasons he had been cured of lyrium addiction without repercussions. Carver had physically walked the Fade, possessed a power in his hand that pulled energy directly from there, and was blessed by Andraste. Any one of those things could have aided him, and none could be duplicated for Cullen.

“I found some, healer,” the requisition officer called out, holding out a small wooden case as she jogged back. Ebrisa nodded gratefully and returned to her patients with the vials, helping the templars reinforce the Chantry's hold on them because she knew they would not be able to survive a full withdraw in their already weakened states.

Cullen was trying so hard to rid himself of lyrium, suffering so much to purge it from his body, and it was entirely possible it could kill him. He wanted to set an example, to be a symbol to other templars that they could have their lives back and shouldn't give up. He was so determined, and it scared her. Ebrisa did her best to help him through it, but all she had been able to do was mitigate the symptoms after they presented themselves. Massages, tonics, and salves were all well and good, but they were ultimately useless if Cullen's heart gave out from the strain.

Ebrisa didn't want to lose him and – to her shame – sometimes she thought about trying to talk him out of his goal. She believed in him, she did, but there was a reason people didn't hear about healthy ex-templars living long, productive lives: there weren't any. The idea that he could die from trying to do something noble rattled Ebrisa to her core, but she knew there was nothing she could do to make things better.

If Cullen stayed off lyrium, his body could give out.

If Cullen stayed on lyrium, his mind could give out.

Either way, Ebrisa would lose the man she loved.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of gave myself a problem when I decided to have templar Carver be the (future) Inquisitor. If he stayed on lyrium, he'd lose his memory and that would be bad for the Inquisition. If he tried to follow Cullen, he'd be in loads of pain and appear weak, which would be bad for the Inquisition. That got me thinking about what sort of effect the mark would have and I think, since seekers get their abilities by being made Tranquil and then having their minds touched by a spirit, that walking the physical Fade, grabbing "Justinia's" hand, or the ancient magic of the Foci could all be potential cures for him. Poor Cullen still has to suffer though...
> 
> [My beta](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ZuleFandom/pseuds/ZuleFandom) suggested more of a mention of the fight against the Hand of Korth, but I just couldn't get it to fit in based on where my POV was. Loud-mouth Sera seemed like an alright compromise.


	11. Patient

The entire return journey from the Fallow Mire had Ebrisa on high alert. She stayed close to the rescued squad, paying careful attention to their condition, but also checking on every one else traveling with them each time they stopped to rest. According to the journal of Fisher End's local healer, the incubation period of the plague was fairly short and with no signs of early symptoms among any of the healthy party, Ebrisa cleared them to reenter Haven.

Not wanting to risk an outbreak in the village, she set up a quarantine area outside the fencing and away from the troop tents. Supplies were brought by runners, though they were careful to keep their distance lest Ebrisa scold them again, and as the enchanter continued the care of the stricken men and women, Adan worked on a preventative elixir to inoculate future soldiers. With the two of them busy, the Chantry sisters picked up the slack in the clinic and after almost a full week of the strange arrangement, the rescued squad was finally allowed to enter Haven.

Ebrisa gave orders for the tents and bedding they used to be dismantled and burned, then hurried back to her quarters for a thorough scrubbing and change of clothes. She heated the basin water with magic, more for the extra cleansing than the comfort, and stashed her armor to be sanitized later, rushing outside as soon as she was clean and dressed. It was likely she needed to file an official report and it was probably important to check in with Adan's progress, but there was something far more pressing to attend to first.

 

“I appreciate the information, but the Inquisition does not hire mercenaries, Ser Cremisius,” Cullen said evenly, being careful to not sound snobbish or belittling.

“Any other group, and I'd understand that.” The man before him only smirked, folding his arms proudly over his chest. “The Bull's Chargers are not your average sellswords; we're a professional mercenary company with years of experience operating mainly in Orlais and Nevarra. Ask around, we've got references.”

The commander humphed, unconvinced.

“Look, normally the Chief doesn't pick sides and we take contracts from anyone, but he thinks your Inquisition is doing good work. All we ask is that you come down to the Storm Coast and watch us in action. If you don't like what you see, you don't have to hire us.” Cremisius looked around casually, eying the very green recruits sparring behind him. “That is, if you're so certain you don't need our company.”

Cullen frowned, knowing that the lieutenant had a point. “I will present your information and your offer to the war council.”

The mercenary nodded. “That's all I wanted to hear.” He walked away quickly, leaving Cullen to watch the training more closely and call out corrections for every mistake he saw. Were they really so desperate for competent soldiers that they needed to bolster their ranks with sellswords? The commander didn't want to think so, but part of him was already leaning towards endorsing the idea with the others. Perhaps just having some additional, impressive fighters in the group would inspire the troops to step up.

A sudden weight slammed into his back, staggering Cullen forward half a step and cutting off his critique mid word with an _oof_. He twisted around as his attacker slipped under his arm, now hugging his side with slender, familiar arms and reaffirming her identity with a soft giggle. Ebrisa smiled up at him, cheeks rosy from the cold and golden hair spilling over her shoulders as she continued to hold him at the awkward angle.

Cullen corrected it instantly, pulling her into a hug and burying his face in her damp hair. It had been near torturous to have Ebrisa in quarantine so close to camp but being unable to go near her and to finally have her in his arms again lifted a weight of anxiety from his heart. He had seen her, he knew she was alright, but it wasn't until she was secured in his embrace that he could truly relax. “It is so good to have you back,” he mumbled against her hair before pressing a kiss to her temple.

She tilted her head, kissing under his jaw in response before he pulled away. “I missed you, but I couldn't risk getting you sick on top of everything else you're going through.”

“What's a little plague matter if I can do this?” Cullen cupped her face gently, leaning down to give Ebrisa a proper welcome, when he heard muffled snickering from several directions. He looked up at the forgotten troops, suddenly remembering he'd been in the middle of training them, and flushed an impressive shade of red that no doubt diminished his ferocity a little in the soldiers' eyes.

“You're working,” Ebrisa whispered, tired eyes widening as she too felt the gaze of their audience. “I wasn't thinking, I just... needed to be near you.”

“Don't stop on our account,” Rylen called out from across the training yard, smirk in his voice. “You can't get away with a tirl like that. Give your burd a proper pog!” The Starkhaven troops scattered amongst the soldiers gave hearty cheers of agreement and many of the fighters who _didn't_ understand what the officer had said were able to get the jist of it well enough to add their voices as well.

Cullen straightened, scowling at the group and willing his blush away. “I am not here to entertain you, I am here keep you from getting impaled by enemy weapons! Now get those shields back up and the next person to release so much as a snigger will be put on a double rotation of scullery duty, is that understood?” The troops answered in unison, though several were clearly unhappy by the lack of a show, and only after they had all returned to practice did Cullen look down at the woman still secured in place by his hands.

He released her face and took a step back to better hold eye contact, smiling apologetically. “I'm afraid they're quite the handful today, and Rylen is acting no better. It will be a little while before I can get away.”

“That's alright, I don't mind waiting to have you all to myself.” Ebrisa glanced over her shoulder at the army, almost certain it had gotten larger since she left.

Cullen's smile grew, eager to have their alone time as well. “You can go ahead to my tent. If any one drops off paperwork, would you mind sorting them out for me?”

“Sort out the papers or the runners?”

“Both,” he chuckled.

She hummed quietly, considering the request. “I'm afraid I won't be able to comply, Commander. I've a very important task to perform right here.” The enchanter took a few steps, stopping at Cullen's side and facing the training yard. “Someone needs to help you keep an eye out for giggling soldiers.”

“Your assistance is greatly appreciated, Enchanter.” With all the eyes on them, they couldn't touch as they wanted, but simply being in eachother's company was like a comforting embrace in and of itself and would be enough to tide them over. Ebrisa stood silently as Cullen continued to supervise and call out instructions, holding missives for him after he gave them a brief perusal just so he wouldn't be bogged down by the papers. As he turned to give her another report, he noticed the shaking of her outstretched hand and took hold of it, feeling the iciness of her fingers even through his gloves.

He took stock of her appearance once again, chastising himself for not realizing sooner that she was completely bereft of outerwear. No cloak, no gloves, not even a scarf – just her layered commoner dress and boots. “Forgive me,” Cullen sighed, as he shrugged out of his coat and slipped the tail free. “I forget sometimes that you are not used to the cold.” He placed the garment on her shoulders, feeling her hair crunch slightly from the added weight and frowning heavily. “Ebrisa, please tell me you did not rush out in the snow unprepared and with wet hair just to see me.”

She stayed quiet, pulling the fur mantle closer and nearly disappearing in the fluff.

“ _Ebrisa_.”

“You say _just to see me_ as though that isn't reason enough.” She turned so she could observe him, pouting slightly. “I know my body's limitations. I'm made of sturdier stuff than you think I am.”

Cullen gave her puffed cheeks a few hearty rubs to warm them, leaning close to whisper in her ear. “I look forward to finding out just how much.”

She pulled back, blushing madly, and smacked the man with his reports. “ _Cullen_ ,”she hissed, darting her eyes to the troops and checking if anyone had heard him. None had, or at least, none were reacting to it.

“Ah, there's some healthy color,” he chuckled quietly. “I take it you still don't want to get inside?”

“Not without you,” Ebrisa answered instantly, leaving no room for doubt of her continued devotion to the self-appointed task. He smiled down at her, glad she remained at his side despite knowing he really should get her out of the cold.

It wasn't much longer until the training session finished and Cullen issued out new orders, speaking with Rylen and some of the other officers briefly about what he needed completed by nightfall and knowing without looking that Ebrisa was trailing closely behind him as he made his rounds.

It did rather feel like a puppy was following him around, eager for his attention and affection, but being patient to receive either, and Cullen recalled the nickname Isabela had given the enchanter back in Kirkwall – _puppy love_. He could see how the pirate came to the moniker all those years ago, but didn't feel it truly fit as much as it once did. The love he and Ebrisa shared was deep and true, and nothing like the crush it must have appeared to be so early on. Cullen wondered when it was that Hawke and her friends had figured out the connection he and Ebrisa shared, because it was certainly a lot sooner than he did.

Once they were finally alone inside Cullen's tent, he slipped his fingers into her loose, ice coated hair and pulled her into the kiss he'd tried to give her earlier. It was demanding and powerful, fueled by his worry over the time she was away and his longing over the time she was just out of reach. The papers Ebrisa had been holding for him dropped to the floor as she gave in to the kiss, hands clutching his tunic instead in an effort to keep herself from joining the reports.

Cullen broke from the kiss to press smaller ones across her cheek to her ear, speaking huskily into it. “As adorable as you look in my coat, I'm rather keen on getting you out of it.”

“You mean it wasn't a gift?” Ebrisa managed to get out relatively evenly, despite the shiver that coursed through her. “It's so warm and comfortable.”

“If you like it so much, perhaps we can get you one of your own.” Cullen tugged on the garment in question, leading Ebrisa to his desk. “And speaking of clothing, I have a request.”

He stopped at his chair and sat down, looking up at the woman with the faintest hint of a smirk twisting his smile. “Have you?” She asked wearily, taking off his coat and setting it carefully on the desk.

“As much as I really enjoyed seeing you in those leggings, I'm afraid I have to ask for you to not wear that uniform in its entirety again.” Cullen took hold of her hand, gently urging her to sit on his lap, which she did sideways.

“I don't have any other armor. Don't you want me to be protected?” Ebrisa looped her arms around his neck, furrowing her brow slightly.

“Of course I do, its just...” Cullen trailed off, trying to find the best way to phrase his issue. “Training the troops became rather... awkward for me – especially the female recruits.” He glanced at her briefly, hoping she caught on. Her continued look of confusion had him cursing under his breath, but he pressed on. “Seeing other women in the same uniform you were wearing reminded me of how you looked in it, of how much I appreciated the way the leathers clung to you, and of the ways I wanted to touch you.” To accentuate his point, Cullen trailed his hand down her back, resting it just above the curve of her rear. “You can imagine how distracting you were, both mentally and physically.”

Ebrisa leaned against him, bringing her lightly flushed face mere inches from his. “I can hardly be blamed for what the memory of me did while I was away.”

“True,” he conceded with a smirk. “But I still think I should hold the source of those visions responsible for what they did to me.” Cullen closed the distance between them, kissing her once again and dropped his hovering hand to firmly caress her backside. Ebrisa gasped against him, pressing herself closer to his armored chest and slipping a hand into his hair as the other fought to find skin to stroke. She whined in frustration, barely able to touch anything beyond his neck and face, and moved her fingers to the clasps of his gorget.

“Cullen,” she said breathlessly against his lips. “I want to feel more of you.”

He moved to her neck, kissing down the column of her throat. “How much more?”

Ebrisa closed her eyes to relish the sensation of hot mouth on her heated skin, wanting to feel it … everywhere. “A lot more...”

The man stilled for a moment, then pulled back to look at her, searching her expression for signs of hesitance or doubt. “You're certain?”

“I missed you,” she sighed longingly. “I want to feel close to you.”

“So do I.” Cullen began unbuckling his armor, helping Ebrisa finish the task she started with a new found sense of purpose. Ebrisa moved off his lap, kneeling on the floor, and together they removed his tunic and armor. He tugged his armor padding over his head and tossed it blindly to the side, staring down at the flushed woman between his legs as she slowly slid her hands up his thighs. It was a sight Cullen wasn't ashamed to admit he'd seen before in his dreams, but no fantasy had been able to capture the rise and fall of her chest as she panted silently, the color of her kiss-swollen lips as she worried on it, or the unspoken pleading in her bright eyes as she looked up at him. She was a vision of timid innocence and sweet seduction, and he knew she wasn't even trying.

Her nose scrunched up as she took a sharp inhale, then Ebrisa twisted away and released a high pitched, barely distinguishable noise as she shook forward, hair flying over her shoulder with the quick and violent action. She quickly apologized, but before she could face Cullen again and smile, it happened again. Then again, the woman needing to grip his knee for support.

“Ebrisa, love, did you just sneeze?” Cullen reached out and smoothed back her hair, pulling it from her face.

“Don't worry, it's not a plague symptom,” she explained with a smile, trying to ease his concern. It failed.

“There are other illnesses besides _plague_.” He scooted back his chair a little and stood up. “Come on, lets put you to bed.”

Ebrisa looked up at him, confused and a little hurt. “Just me?”

Cullen bent down and kissed the top of her head. “I would very much like to take you to my bed for other reasons, but I worry what overexerting yourself might do to your health. It's best to stop this early, is it not, _healer_?”

She opened her mouth to protest, but another squeaking sneeze escaped instead. Ebrisa stayed where she was a moment longer, sighing in defeat. “It is,” she mumbled, clearly disappointed by the change of plans. Cullen pulled her to her feet and lead her to his pallet, helping her out of her boots and a few of the extra layers to make her resting more comfortable. She muffled the next sneeze as best she could, but he still heard it and furrowed his brow worriedly.

“I shouldn't have let you stay out there so long,” Cullen said softly, shaking his head. “I knew the risks, but I was selfish and desperate for your company.” She tried to argue, to lay all the blame rightly on herself, but he silenced her with a gentle kiss on the lips. “Let me make amends. Let me take care of you.” With such a heartfelt request, Ebrisa couldn't possibly refuse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Though Ebrisa was touched by Cullen's sweet attentions and dedicated attempts at playing caretaker, she was well aware of the burden she was to the commander. He kept her on his pallet bundled in the covers, sitting with her as much as possible and stroking her hair while processing paperwork. Each time someone entered the tent, he'd hurry over and shush them, glaring at anyone who spoke above a whisper until they corrected their volume. When his work was finally done for the day, Cullen brought their supper and watched her pointedly until she ate every bite.

In truth, he wasn't entirely certain what to do and ended up mixing and matching remedies, but it was his concern more than anything that affected Ebrisa the most. The gentle way he laid a damp cloth on her forehead, the soothing timber of his voice as he lulled her to sleep, and the comforting circle of his embrace as he held her in his own slumber, unconcerned about falling ill himself. He wasn't concerned, but Ebrisa was, and the next morning she claimed to be in perfect health – even going so far as to credit the Fereldan cure-all of pickled eggs he'd made her eat as the cause.

While Adan and the Chantry sisters had done well to care for the patients, they had neglected to keep the clinic at the same level of cleanliness or preparedness Ebrisa preferred. The enchanter spent the entire morning taking stock of supplies and scrubbing everything down, pausing only briefly when her head began to pound. She pushed it to the side, along with the stuffiness of the room, and continued cleaning up.

Ebrisa was on her way back from the apothecary with a small crate of tonics when she spotted a woman about her age lingering around the clinic's door, seemingly uncertain about going inside.

“Can I help you?” Ebrisa asked softly, not wanting to spook the possible patient.

“Aye, if it's not too much trouble,” she said, brogue as smooth as her strawberry blonde tresses.

“No trouble at all.” Ebrisa motioned her inside with the crate, following after and setting the bottles down on the edge of a workbench before giving the other woman her full attention. “So, what brings you here today?”

“Stupidity,” she sighed. “I braced my shield a bit wonky in training yesterday and now I can't seem to raise my arm above my chest.” The woman lifted her left limb to demonstrate, grimacing after only a short height and dropping it back down. “You'd think after all those years of templar training I'd be able to stay focused on the field.”

“Stay focused?” Ebrisa prodded while simultaneously prodding the woman's shoulder and back.

“Some sort of commotion at the front. I heard Captain Rylen saying something about pogging and then my sparring partner came at me full force.” She shook her head. “I should have reacted sooner, but I was just so thrown off.”

Ebrisa felt her face heat more than it already was and she quickly ran the back of her hand over her forehead to wipe away the building sheen of sweat. “Stupidity may well have been the cause of this injury, but it would be mine, not your own.” The enchanter lifted the soldier's arm and held it level with one hand, bracing the other on her back. “I forgot my surroundings and was a bit too affectionate with the commander. _We_ were the commotion.” She pressed firmly against the shoulder blade, threading soothing, healing magic into the strained muscles.

“Oh?” The woman turned her head to study Ebrisa more closely as the healer checked the arm's range of motion and rotation. “Oh! It's _you!_ I've heard wonderful things about _you_!”

Ebrisa understood it was likely the Starkhaven templars she'd worked with in Kirkwall would return home with a few stories, but she just hadn't considered the possibility that she would be the subject of any. “You seem to have me at a disadvantage, Ser...?”

The woman straightened, pulling her arm free to place it over her mouth. “Maker above, Father would be so displeased to hear I went this long in a conversation without introducing myself.” She placed her fist across her chest in salute, then bent forward in a bow. “Belinda Darrow, First Enchanter.”

Ebrisa smiled, returning the slight bow with a minor curtsey. “Not any more, but I do hesitate to ask what you may have heard about me, wonderful or not.”

“All sorts of things, I'm afraid. Like you play the harp and have the voice of an angel, you're a close, personal friend of the Prince of Starkhaven, and – above all - “ Belinda paused, smiling wide, “you're very sweet. It's no surprise the commander swept you up for himself or that Divine Justinia endorsed it.”

Ebrisa looked away and rubbed her forehead again, uncertain if the lightheaded feeling was from all the praise. “That's many kind words from someone I don't know.”

“They aren't _my_ words.” Belinda sucked in a breath, realizing her error. “Oh, but I'm sure they will be! You do seem awfully sweet and I can’t imagine why any one would lie about your singing.”

Ebrisa reached out a hand to grab the workbench she knew was behind her as her vision began to blur.

“Would you feel more comfortable if I told you about myself? You know, so we'd be on even footing?” Belinda tapped a finger to her chin as she tried to figure out where to begin. “I'm from a minor noble house in Starkhaven – though you probably already guessed the Starkhaven bit – and I took my templar vows only a few months before the Order broke away.”

Ebrisa's hand failed to find support and she stumbled back, colliding with the surface she'd been searching for and knocking the small crate of tonics to the ground. The crash startled Belinda into silence and drew her focus to the side of the room just as the person she'd been talking to dropped to the floor on top of the broken glass and fractured wood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the first multiplayer character appears! I'm wanting to explore things from the game that I haven't touched before and one of the most obvious things to include is the multiplayer. Does this mean Isabela is going to show up? Yes. Yes, it does.
> 
> Beta'd by my doppleganger, [ZuleFandom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZuleFandom/pseuds/ZuleFandom)


	12. Impossible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by ZuleFandom. Check out her fic that I beta: [Into Darkness, Unafraid](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11695659)

Ebrisa stirred slowly back to consciousness, becoming aware of the chill against her skin before the familiar roof overhead. She was laying in her bed, trying to recall what had happened, but needn't  have bothered as her caretaker noticed her movement and filled in the blanks.

“You passed out from fever,” Sister Odette softly informed her, though there was an undertone of chastising in her voice. “I am certain you already knew you were unwell, yet insisted on throwing yourself back into work anyways.”

“There was much that needed to be done,” Ebrisa mumbled, trying to justify her actions.

“Yes, and now there is even more.” Odette helped her sit up and handed the enchanter a dose of spindleweed. “Not only was I torn away from my own duties to help you, but Adan has been tasked with replacing the tonics you wasted and the floor is a mess. Does it really seem as though you've truly done anything productive today?”

The enchanter was silent, knowing that the older woman was right. She had just been gone for so long that she felt the need to make up for it, and now everything she'd done had to be redone.

Odette sighed and took away the now empty vial. “You obtained only minor cuts and bruises from your fall, but in examining you, I did see that old wound of yours.” The sister motioned to the area, as though fearful of touching it directly. “It looks very grave, especially since it appears to go all the way through?”

Ebrisa nodded in confirmation. “I was ran through with a great sword.”

“Maker's Mercy,” Odette gasped. “Most would not survive an attack like that. What sort of internal damage did it do? Surely there are lasting effects.”

“I... I don't recall.”

The sister hummed in mild concern. “You surely would have noticed something wrong if one of your major organs were severely damaged. Judging from the placement, it seems as though your womb may have been affected.”

Ebrisa inhaled sharply, eyes dropping to her scar beneath the covers. “And what would that mean, exactly?”

“Even a small amount of scarring can make child baring difficult – conceiving or carrying.” Odette stood up from the stool with a muted protest from her joints. “It's a good thing you're a mage. Any other woman would be devastated, but you wouldn't have been able to keep a child anyways, so I'm certain this is a relief. You and the commander can continue your dalliance without any uncomfortable complications.” She lowered her head in a respectful bow and exited the clinic, closing the door behind herself.

As soon as she was alone, Ebrisa pushed the fabric aside and rested her hands against her abdomen, sending out small pulses of magic to inspect her own body. It was awkward and difficult to perform an examination on herself, but Ebrisa concentrated on the task until she found what she was looking for. Sister Odette had been right – there was scarring, and more than a little.

Ebrisa's hands dropped limply into her lap as she was racked with a sudden flood of emotions. She and Cullen had never talked about having children, likely because they hadn't yet truly done anything that would cause one, but she could tell from the way he spoke of his brother's son that he wanted one of his own. Cullen had a happy childhood with siblings that loved him and it was likely that after all his years in the Templar Order, what he really wanted was to have his own little family with a wife and children and a place to call home far away from fighting and bloodshed.

There had been an unspoken hope between them that Divine Justinia would change things in the Chantry and remove some of the restrictions on mages not just for their own benefit, but everyone's. They had never broached the topic of their future because they wanted to enjoy their present and were content to wait for things to fall into place. But they were naïve. A single person – Maker's Chosen, or no – could not change the world on their own. None of that mattered now, not when Ebrisa wouldn't be able to carry a child to term. After all, the Chantry couldn't take away what the Maker didn't give.

More than the devastation Ebrisa felt at the revelation, the woman was consumed with self-loathing. This had been her fault, all of it. _She_ sided with Meredith during the annulment. _She_ was unguarded and unprepared. _She_ refused to let her spirit companions help her. _She_ was the one so consumed with how mangled she looked on the outside that she never thought to check inside. Maybe if she went with Orsino, or trained more in combat tactics, or allowed Belief or Sympathy to heal her right away, or bothered to heal herself when she woke up in the infirmary all those years ago... maybe then she wouldn't be in the position she was now. A single moment of stupidity had marred her for the rest of her life.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Odette returned later, unaware of the havoc she caused, to inform Ebrisa she was on mandatory bed rest for three days by order of Seeker Pentaghast and that Adan would look after anyone else who entered to clinic. Not long after the sister left again, Cullen came bursting through the door. He paused and calmed himself, then called out to the enchanter cautiously. Ebrisa turned onto her side, facing away from him, and pretended to be asleep.

She hated herself for the cowardly, impulsive action, but committed to the lie. She wanted – _needed_ – to feel Cullen's comfort to settle her rattled nerves and broken heart, but at the same time she feared how he would react if she told him what she'd just found out. If Cullen felt anything like Ebrisa did about not being able to have children... Maker, she just wouldn't be able to handle the devastation on his face right now.

Undaunted by her apparent slumber, Cullen sat down on the edge of her bed, his weight dipping the straw mattress and shifting Ebrisa slightly. He sighed softly, sounding tired and concerned, and rubbed his hand over her exposed sleeve. When he spoke, she knew he meant her minor sickness, but couldn't help thinking it applied to her other issue and answered him in her mind.

“I'm so sorry. I should have tried to help you more.”

 _No, love, no. This was me. This was_ _ all _ _me._

“I know its not my area of expertise, but I wanted to be able to do that for you.”

_I've never thought about it, we've never talked about it, but now that we might not be able to... its all I can think about._

Cullen leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Ebrisa's temple, the woman struggling not to react. “You'll overcome this soon. You're made of sturdier stuff then I give you credit for, remember?”

_I won't... I'm not..._

“I love you.”

Ebrisa felt the tears building behind her eyelids, wondering if he would still be able to say that so easily if they were having the conversation in her head out loud. It was a terrible thought to have and she chastised herself the moment it snaked into her mind, but once it was there, she couldn't dismiss it. Could their relationship really be undone by not having something they didn't already?

“I'll come back later,” Cullen said softly, breaking her from the spiral of doubt she'd fallen into. “Lady Cassandra made it very clear on her way out of Haven that I'm to remain on the field instead of at your side. I would have argued, but since she was good enough to inform me of your condition, I felt it best to comply.” He stood up then, trailing his hand lightly down her arm, hip, and then legs as he stepped away, touching her until the last possible second. Cullen left and closed the door, and Ebrisa silently wept.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Patients with minor cuts and burns wandered in all day, awkwardly approaching the healer in her own bed before she informed them of the situation and they went to get Adan, making her feel even more useless than before. In the late afternoon, a bit of a back up began to form as Adan dragged his feet tearing himself away from his _actual work_ to tend to the wounded again and Ebrisa contemplated giving up her own bed to one of the standing patients, but the thought of her bed rest being extended kept her in place. Work kept Cullen outside the village gates and the sick individuals in the small cabin had other potential visitors stay clear, but there was one person who was undeterred.

“Let me start by saying that I am so terribly sorry,” Belinda, the last patient Ebrisa had seen to, said in a low voice as she stood at the edge of the wall partition. “I feel this is partially my fault – what with me being a right blether, going on about myself and ignoring you – and I wanted to see how you were doing.” She took a hesitant step forward, hiding slightly behind the basket in her arms.

“No, Ser Belinda, this wasn't your doing.” Ebrisa tried to offer a smile, but couldn't get it to reach her eyes. “I've no one to blame but myself for the situation I'm in.”

Belinda pursed her lips and tilted her head, keeping her confirmation or denial to herself. “In any case, I thought you might get bored being cooped up here.” She took another step forward and lowered the basket, allowing Ebrisa to finally see what was inside. “I brought you something to pass the time.”

The enchanter peered into the basket curiously, finding balls of yarn and thin, metal sticks. It took a moment for the items' purpose to register and when they did, Ebrisa once again felt useless. “Thank you for the thought, but I'm afraid I don't know how to knit.”

“It's easy, I'll show you!” Belinda pulled the stool up to the head of the bed, forgetting her earlier apprehension and setting the basket on Ebrisa's lap. She pulled out four needles and handed two to the slightly stunned mage before going back into the basket for a loose end of yarn. “First thing you do is tie a little slip knot to one of the needles, like this.” She paused to demonstrate and waited for Ebrisa to mimic the action. “Good, now you hold the yarn between your fingers, like so, to keep it taut and twist the needle _like this_ to loop it on. This is called casting-on, but its nothing like the casting you're used to, eh?” Belinda giggled at her little joke, looping several stitches across her needle while Ebrisa slowly copied her. “Not too tight now.”

“Sorry,” the enchanter rushed out, feeling like a little girl learning how to do needlepoint and remembering the harsh reprimands she'd get from her mother when she messed up a piece. Her mother had demanded perfection in everything, something she received with her eldest daughter and one of the factors that led to sending her youngest away.

“Not to worry, First Enchanter,” Belinda slid her neat row of loops off the edge of the needle and tugged lightly, returning her work to the straight strand of yarn it had been before, “mistakes are easily forgiven.”

“If only it were that easy,” Ebrisa mumbled before she could stop herself, forgetting for a brief moment that she wasn't still alone. She exhaled softly and removed her loops of yarn to start again, noticing from the corner of her eye that Belinda was doing the same. With the other woman sitting so near, she must have heard Ebrisa's mumble, but the templar was acting as though nothing was said.

Belinda smiled when the enchanter looked at her again, taking it as her cue to continue. “There are lots of different stitches and techniques to create all sorts of patterns and designs, but for now we'll stick with the basics.” She proceeded to talk Ebrisa through the procedures, demonstrating what she was teaching and keeping her voice calm and patient. The enchanter picked it up surprisingly quickly and in her excitement, Belinda spoke her praise a little too loudly. “You're a natural knitter with those nimble fingers! You could be making full garments in no time.”

“Good thing, too,” one of the village women waiting on Adan called from the larger portion of the cabin. “From what I hear, she'll be needing to knit booties soon enough!” Others in the cabin chuckled at the comment, the commander and his healer being a big point of gossip in Haven, especially after Maryden added a couple of songs about them to her repertoire. The bard didn't name them outright and she had the sense to not sing them when the people in question where around, but it didn't take much imagination to figure out who she was referring to.

Belinda was tempted to join in on the good-natured mirth, but as she turned to face the enchanter again all thoughts of laughter fell away. The needles trembled in Ebrisa's hands, the small section of knitted fibers straining against the action as her face similarly struggled to keep her emotions concealed. She bit her lip to stop it from quivering and blinked back the tears she was fighting, knowing she couldn't cry in front of so many people – not about this. If Cullen heard, he would figure out why she had gotten so upset, and then he...

“Booties?” Belinda said overly loud, cutting through the giggles. “Now how is she supposed to get booties on her wyvern? His claws would tear them up and surely the beast would lose some traction, making scaling walls difficult.” The templar hummed as the laughter died down, the patients listening to her curiously. “Now a scarf, that wouldn't hurt at all. And maybe a hat?” Belinda let out a single giggle, bringing a hand to her mouth. “Can you imagine him in a tam o'shanter? He'd look right braw then, yeah?” The room began laughing again, now consumed with the image of Leopold in knitted booties with a scarf and an oversized hat that would need to be strapped on.

In the privacy the background noise provided them, Belinda placed her hands over Ebrisa's and nodded once. The simple action had the enchanter bowing her head and crying softly, finally allowing herself to give in to the pain she'd been fighting. She didn't really know Belinda, couldn't recall seeing her before that day, but the Starkhaven woman seemed to understand exactly what Ebrisa needed at that moment. She still didn't want Cullen to know, but somehow Ebrisa felt that the next time he came by, she'd be able to look at him and smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
When her bed rest was over and Ebrisa didn't immediately come running to Cullen, he noticed. When she only managed to visit him in public and found excuses to avoid going anywhere alone with him, he noticed. When she steered conversations away from herself and answered questions about her well being with only hums or nods, he noticed. Cullen noticed, of course he did, but the man hadn't said anything about her odd behavior and Ebrisa worried if that meant he already knew what Odette had told her.

It wasn't exactly something that would come up naturally in a conversation and she couldn't imagine the already put upon sister would go out of her way to deliver a report to the Commander, but the fear of Cullen's reaction sat in the back of Ebrisa's mind every time he smiled at her or leaned in for a kiss. Ebrisa's body had recovered from the illness, but her heart and soul still needed mending and with the usual source out of the question, she turned elsewhere for comfort.

Giselle had turned one of the rooms in the Chantry into a small chapel and Ebrisa was ashamed to admit she hadn't gone to any of the scattered services yet. It wasn't by design, it was just that as head healer – often feeling like _only_ healer – her schedule never seemed to line up with the sermons. Many of Haven's occupants were either too busy like Ebrisa was or so put off by how the religion had been acting that the clergy had lost them. Though he refused to acknowledge it, the village took many of their religious cues from Carver and his own distrust and doubt allowed those already wavering in faith to ignore it completely. When he got back from the Hinterlands, Ebrisa would need to have a quiet word with him.

Almost a week since falling ill, she finally managed to catch a service. It was a small congregation and the gathering was short, but Ebrisa was grateful for it. It felt like forever since she'd attended a true service, the Gallows borrowing lay sisters to lead a portion of the Chant and her yearly visits to the cathedral for All Soul's Day too different, and there was something in the simple, familiar structure of it that brought the first wave of calm to her mind.

Though she focused on every word the clergy said and joined in on both the reciting of the Chant and the single hymn, Ebrisa was hard pressed to remember any of it as soon as the service ended. She sat still on the worn bench as the small space emptied, watching the rows of candles at the front of the room and planning out her words carefully. When the last visitor left, the enchanter rose quietly and approached the stand. Reciting her prayer in her mind, Ebrisa carefully picked up one of the lighting sticks and waited for it to catch on the largest candle before slowly drawing it across the row to her target. Before the flame could touch the new wick, a cold gust of air snuffed it out. A strangled noise left her as she stared at the thin trail of smoke dancing off the end of the extinguished stick, uncertain what it meant but knowing it couldn't be anything good.

“I beg pardon,” Roderick said from the now open doorway, “I didn't realize anyone was still in here.” He approached the front of the chapel, another apology on his tongue as he realized what the cross breeze caused by his entrance had done, but it vanished once he recognized the woman. “An incomplete prayer goes unanswered, but one canceled like that? Surely a sign that its very existence was offensive to the Maker.”

Ebrisa's trembling hand dropped the stick and went to her mouth, the shaking taking root and spreading through her entire body. Roderick waited for an angry or snarky response, like he had received from so many in the Inquisition, but was completely unprepared for the woman to drop hard to her knees. A moment of haughty victory surged through Roderick, but it was gone as soon as Ebrisa's muffled sob reached his ears. It was clear that the Inquisition as a whole did not approve of his continued presence, did not take him seriously or respect his position in the Chantry, and he had gotten in the habit of striking first in verbal confrontations so as to not be caught off guard. He knelt down slowly beside her, studying what he could see of her face, and wondered if he had acted in error.

“Maybe it is,” Ebrisa mumbled behind her fingers. “Maybe this is the Maker's will.”

Roderick held back his confirmation, waiting this time for more information before he said anything with even a grain of confidence. “What was your prayer, child?”

She wrapped her free arm around her middle, staring at the rod iron supports of the candle rack. “That was it exactly...”

It took the older man a moment to piece together her meaning, not catching it until he noticed the way she gripped the fabric over her stomach. “You were asking for a child?” He didn't stop the reflective disdain in his voice. This woman was, after all, a mage, and though the Circles of Magi were no longer around, the Chantry's laws still stood. Any child born of a mage could not be kept by one and even with the fractured state of things, that could not be ignored.

“Not precisely, not right now,” she quietly explained. “I just wanted to know if it would ever be possible...”

His instinct was to berate the woman. She'd already been given so many liberties by Justinia and her response to such unwarranted grace was to ask for more? The comment remained unsaid as he watched the devastation play across the woman's face and remembered for the first time that she was one, and not just a mage.

“I suppose I have my answer...”

The tone in her voice made Roderick's heart ache and forced him to remember his life prior to serving Justinia directly. He was, first and foremost, a servant of the Chantry and it was his duty to tend to the suffering. This woman was clearly suffering and, more than that, he had been the one to cause it. “I may have spoken out of turn,” he began softly. “There's always a gust of air when the door is opened. The flame going out before you could light your candle had no true meaning.”

“Didn't it?” Ebrisa pulled her hands away from herself, looking down at them and sighing tiredly. “ _Sometimes it is hard to see the Maker's hand in things_.” Sebastian had told her that after Feynriel was made Tranquil and she'd told herself that after her ordeal with Quentin, believing it both times. Maybe Meredith really had been hearing the Maker in her red lyrium fueled madness and struck Ebrisa where she had not in an attempt to kill her, but to ensure she couldn't bare children.

“And what has brought on this line of thinking?” Roderick gently prodded. “I know you and the commander have been together for some time. Have you been trying to conceive and not yet seen results?”

“We haven't, um, gone that far yet,” she quietly admitted, surprising Roderick more than a little. If the Kirkwall pair had been a couple for so long and still not consummated their relationship, then there was much more between them than carnal desire and lust. Much more than Roderick ever considered or gave them credit for.

“Then tell me what has provoked this.” He waited patiently for her answer, hoping he wouldn't need to drag it out of her.

“I... I was severely wounded during Kirkwall's annulment. Sister Odette saw my scar and said...” Ebrisa took a deep breath to steady her voice for the quivering she knew was coming. “She suggested that if the scarring continued to my womb, then it would be difficult to conceive or carry children. I checked and there is and I won't-” Her words got caught in her tight throat she shook her head to release them, freeing the building tears from her eyes as well. “I won't be able to give Cullen a family...”

Once again the woman took Roderick by surprise. She was not upset because she couldn't have a child of her own, but because she couldn't bare _the commander's_ child, couldn't provide him heirs. Perhaps in this one matter, Justinia had been right to ignore Roderick's council and defy tradition.

“Are those the exact words she used?” He asked after a moment. “That it would be difficult?”

The entire conversation had played over in Ebrisa's mind so much that she had no doubts about what was said between her and the sister. “Yes.”

“There are many things in this world that are _difficult_ , good woman, but that does not make them _impossible_.” Roderick paused, trying to catch the enchanter's eye. “You will perhaps remember Holy Andraste was declared barren and her mortal husband sought out a concubine for heirs. After he had received his sons by another woman, Andraste had not one, but two daughters.”

“I am aware, Chancellor,” Ebrisa responded quietly. She _was_ named for one of them, after all. “Vivial and Ebris were miracles given to a righteous, deserving woman who would do many great things. I am nothing like the prophetess and to even entertain the idea would be bordering on blasphemous.”

“Perhaps, but my point was the world declared it impossible for Andraste, and you have not been given that same diagnosis.” He reached out and placed a hesitant hand on Ebrisa's shoulder. “Even if you had, we have seen many impossible things recently, have we not? In the midst of the sky being torn open and demons walking freely in the mortal realm, a wounded woman baring a child seems rather doable, wouldn't you agree?”

Ebrisa blinked at the chancellor, hope beating in her chest and feeling for the first time that she might not have doomed herself at the Gallows. There were still many things that needed to be worked out, many things that needed approval, but it was possible. If she prayed and she pleaded and she worked hard, then maybe she and Cullen really could have a family.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
The commander starred ahead at the budding army, eyes watching them move through drills but unable to truly focus on the training. Something had happened when Ebrisa collapsed the week prior, he was certain of it, but she refused to say what. A part of him reasoned her withdrawing from him was because she felt ashamed or embarrassed for lying about her health and making matters worse, but Cullen knew it was more than that. He wanted to lock themselves in a room and refuse to let her out until she told him what was wrong, but again, Cullen knew that would only make things worse. It was maddening to see Ebrisa try to hide her pain and disheartening that she didn't trust him enough to share it. He wanted to help her, but he couldn't if she wouldn't let him.

Crunching snow behind him alerted the man of someone approaching and he held out his hand without looking to receive the report or missive he was sure to get. When he felt a hand in his own, Cullen finally broke from his unfocused starring and turned to the figure now standing at his side. Ebrisa looked up at him timidly, as though uncertain if she was doing the right thing by being there, and worried on her bottom lip. Cullen dropped her hand and took a half step back, quickly removing his coat and bundling the woman up with it instead.

She giggled behind her closed mouth, not yet ready to express true mirth, and watched the commander take her hand once again. “You needn't have done that. I'm wearing my own cloak.”

“I'd rather not take my chances.” Cullen squeezed her hand, tugging her just a little bit closer to his side. “It's good to have you back.”

Ebrisa looked up into his eyes filled with honest adoration and smiled, truly smiled, for the first time in what felt like forever. How had she let herself become so frightened that Cullen would leave her just because they couldn't build a family together? This man loved her for who she was, and not for the foggy visions of what the future may or may not bring. She would do well to remember that.

“It's good to be back.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, crab baskets, I've run out of buffer. This is the last chapter I have written, so updates may slow down. I will try my best to keep up with the once a week postings, but not going to lie, it will be tough.  
> I've just been so tired, nauseous, and unmotivated for the past months and it's not looking like that's going to be lifting any time soon.


	13. Dream

Ebrisa hummed softly to herself as she gathered up her supplies, checking the items off in her head as each item was secured away. The missive hadn't given much detail about the illness, but enough of the pilgrims and other attendees of Justinia's conclave had fallen prey to sudden colds they weren't used to that Ebrisa was fairly confident that she could handle whatever was waiting for her at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

“I've found a volunteer to accompany you,” Cullen called as he pulled the tent flap aside and stepped in. He hadn't bothered to announce himself or wait for invitation, the two of them more than comfortable in the other's presence, and hunched over in the woman's small tent, watching her pack.

“A volunteer, huh?” Ebrisa tied the satchel closed, casting the man a teasing look. “And was this person aware of whom he would be escorting before he volunteered?”

He frowned just a little, as though uncertain why she was grinning like that. “Milon might not have been so eager until he knew it was you.”

“You mean until he knew it was his commander's sweetheart.” She rose to a bent height, holding her pack by its strap and moving towards the man. “Who wouldn't want to get on your good side by performing what could be considered a personal favor?”

“I never said it was a _personal favor_ ,”Cullen defended, exiting Ebrisa's small tent and holding the canvas aside for her own departure. “Maker's Breath, can't anyone speak plainly anymore?”

“Some would say you speak too plainly, good ser.”

Cullen took her hand as she stepped into the snow, ensuring she wouldn't slip on any hidden patches of ice. “I've never been one to mince words.”

She nodded in agreement, swinging the satchel lightly. “Mince, no. Stumble over, on occasion.”

“ _That_ ,” Cullen grumbled quietly as he took the pack from her hand, “only happens in very select company.” He placed the strap over her shoulder and across her chest, tugging the woman a little closer after securing the satchel. “And I'd like to think I've gotten a better handle on it.”

The woman held back a giggle behind her tight smile, eyes betraying the amusement she was trying to mask. “Marginally.”

“ _Marginally_ , she says,” Cullen chuckled softly. He pulled her closer still, only his hands on the strap preventing her body from pressing into his. “Then I guess I have my work cut out for me.”

An exaggerated throat clearing had the couple stepping apart to focus on the source of the noise, finding a very uncomfortable, yet eager, looking soldier. “I'm ready to depart when you are, my lady.”

Ebrisa looked up at Cullen and his barely restrained flush before returning her attention to the other man. “Thank you, Ser Milon. A moment, if you please?”

“Yes, of course! Uh, beg pardon.” Milon turned around to give the pair the illusion of privacy, but stayed close enough to hear whatever they might say. Gossip was a precious commodity in camp, and Ebrisa suspected her escort was fully intent on scrounging up some new tidbits to share.

Sighing discreetly, the woman adjusted her pack, shaking it enough to signal Cullen to let go. “Do me a favor and keep Marian away from Carver while I'm gone. He bested her in cards and she's absolutely livid. I'd rather not have to mend a broken nose or swollen wrist when I return.”

“As it happens, Carver is running an errand for me at the temple.” Cullen glanced away, unable to meet her eyes as he spoke. “He's getting the – that is, he _should_ have gotten it yesterday, and – I told him it was important! Why did he wait?”

His face heated in what Ebrisa assumed to be muted anger and she pressed a hand to his warm cheek to force his gaze back to her. “Likely because he was too busy cleaning Marian out of every bit of coin she had. I'm certain he'll perform his assignment admirably and return before I do.”

“Unless he stops for another game of cards on the way,” he muttered almost bitterly.

The woman rubbed her thumb across his cheekbone, dispelling the negative feeling, and smiled softly. “I'll be back before it gets dark. Should the illness prove worse than I thought, I'll send word.” Still holding his cheek, she urged him down with a gentle tug until he was closer to her own height. Ebrisa pressed her lips to his in a short kiss, fully aware of the audience they had and not wanting to make things difficult for the man while she was gone. “Good bye, love. I'll be back soon.”

Cullen smiled as he straightened, trailing his knuckles lightly down her cheek as she released his own. “I look forward to it.”

Milon and Ebrisa left with little fanfare and the soldier was respectfully quiet, as though not wanting to say anything that could offend. The enchanter didn't mind and used the silence to pretend her escort wasn't there, not that she truly needed one inside the camp. The men and women serving under Cullen's command knew her well and she felt safe amongst them, but it was when she entered the company of unfamiliar templars and suspicious pilgrims that Ebrisa needed to be on alert. She was confident that she could thwart any sneak attack or frontal assault, but the ramifications of being involved in a fight – even from a purely defensive stand point – during the Divine's conclave were enough to always request an escort. The soldier at her side was more deterrent than defender.

The Temple of Sacred Ashes was just coming into clear view, no longer hiding behind trees and rock outcroppings, when an uncomfortable tingling raced across Ebrisa's skin and a terrible noise filled her ears. Before she could ask Milon if he'd heard the shrill sound, her vision filled with blinding light and she had to shut her eyes against the brightness. She felt the rumbling of the ground beneath her and was at once reminded of Kirkwall's Chantry exploding in the distance, but this felt... worse. A thousand times worse.

She tried to squint into the brightness to see what was happening, only to catch the crest of an avalanche mere yards away. A barrier sprang up around her before she could think, but the magical buffer did nothing to stop the force of heavy snow from plowing into her and carrying her away. The sphere was quickly covered in snow, blocking out light as the woman sank deeper and deeper into the frigid darkness. Ebrisa was tumbling, spinning, falling, her mind whirling with fear and chaos and she began to scream.

Then, everything stopped.

“Calm, Ebrisa. Calm.”

The voice was familiar, yet she couldn't place it.

“If you let your emotions affect the spirits, then we won't be any closer to finding our answer.”

That was right. This wasn't real. Solas had promised to help her locate Renata and after finding no trace of her wandering the Fade, the elven mage had suggested revisiting the place when Ebrisa had last seen her guardian spirit. The enchanter couldn't recall any details of the Conclave's explosion on her own, so Solas had guided her through the Fade and helped her dig up the memory. It wasn't something Ebrisa even knew was possible, but the elf was clearly skilled in techniques the Circle never taught.

“I will try, Master Solas,” she whispered to the dark. A beat of silence, then everything started again.

Fire sprang to life around the barrier, melting the snow just on the other side. Though she was dizzy bouncing around inside the sphere and disoriented from the tumbling, Ebrisa could tell something was trying to pull her up towards the open air. That was how Renata protected her – she used Ebrisa's own spells and mana, casting through her. Unfortunately for both of them, telekinetic spells had never been her strong suit. The fire grew hotter in frustration, warming the barrier and heating Ebrisa's skin to near blistering levels, before the sphere jerked to the side in a different direction, using the flow of the avalanche to help its movement.

It was too much mana too quickly, and Ebrisa felt herself slipping from consciousness.

 

When Ebrisa awoke, she was surprised to see she hadn't really woken up. She was still in her dream – her memory – and still felt so unbearably tired. Her barrier had ended up at the entrance of a mostly collapsed tunnel, the long died out fire having melted the snow around her and replaced the magical sphere with an ice one, broken at the top where it hugged a chunk of dripping rock, letting in air. Ebrisa knew she would freeze to death if she remained in the ice bubble, and being depleted of mana, she was left with little choice then to chip at the frozen barrier by hand.

The tonics and salves in her bag were mostly useless, but she had brought along herb grinding supplies and stabbed at the ice with the blunted, wooden pestle. She tried to pace herself, tried to not use her energy too quickly, but before long she had to rest and fell asleep once again. When next she woke, Ebrisa was no longer in the barrier. Part of the ice had been melted away and she was now laying further in the tunnels near the embers of once burning support beams. She didn't know how long she had been unconscious that time and though she still felt weak, it was nowhere as bad as it had been before. Slowly, carefully, Ebrisa rose to her feet and stumbled off down the dark, abandoned tunnels.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Though Ebrisa was left with more questions than she started with, Solas felt the dream walking was a success. They had been able to determine that Renata was not destroyed or corrupted when the Breach opened, that she stayed true to her nature and being by using Ebrisa's own magic to protect her during the avalanche and direct her to relative safety. He assured her it was a good sign and that he would look into the matter further when the party returned from the Storm Coast. Solas had helped her immensely, calming a portion of her worry, but now Ebrisa wondered how she had managed to cast any fire spells to free and warm herself when she was so very weak.

She had ended up spending nearly all her free time that day with Solas and felt guilty for not so much as waving at Cullen. He had a council meeting earlier that day and likely had plenty of preparations to make for the upcoming mission, and Ebrisa knew in her gut that he hadn't taken a break. Needing to make up for her neglect, she went to the tavern and got meals for them both, hoping that an actual supper instead of army rations would go a long way to earning his forgiveness for her accidental neglect – not that the man would ever admit to feeling slighted.

“Cullen, I brought supper,” Ebrisa called cheerfully as she entered his tent. “I thought we could... eat...” She trailed off as he came into view hunched over his desk, entire body being held up by his straining arms. “Are you alright?”

He shook his head slowly, breathing loudly through his nose.

Ebrisa set the bowls on the footlocker and came to his side, pressing her hands to his face and neck to assess his condition. Cullen's burning skin was beyond clammy and the sweat was weakening the pomade in his hair, causing sections to break free over his forehead in dampened curls. He was trembling beneath his rigid form, but managed to stay on his feet, staring with blurring eyes at the paperwork before him.

“We need to cool you down.” Ebrisa pushed off his surcoat and began tugging his tunic free, though the fabric remained trapped by his death grip on the desk.

“I need to finish this,” he forced out through clenched teeth and Ebrisa knew it wasn't from anger, but his desperate hold on the pain shooting through him.

“It would be much better to finish it when you can think clearly, wouldn't it?” She began unlacing his pauldrons and unclasping the vambrace, taking off what she could without him moving. The gorget was a bit harder, given the angle he was bowing his head, but once it was out of the way the straps and buckles of his cuirass were almost easy by comparison. “Come on, love,” Ebrisa coax, slipping under an arm and wrapping her own around his back. “Let's get you lying down, alright? It's not far, but you'll need to help me.”

“Ebrisa, I can-”

“That's an _order_ , Commander.” She grabbed onto the arm over her shoulder, pulling on the armor padding as tightly as possible. “Now come on.”

He relented with a grunt and began stumbling beside her away from the desk and through the partition, coat and tunic falling to the ground behind him. Ebrisa tried to ease him down gently, but he was too heavy for her and they fell awkwardly onto the pallet with their legs hanging off the side. “Sorry, sorry,” Ebrisa whispered while extracting herself. She pulled him into a sitting position and instantly grabbed at the leather padding, tugging it over his head and down his arms to reveal a drenched undershirt that she didn't even hesitate before removing as well.

Cullen fell back against the covers when she had stripped his torso, breathing a quiet sigh as the cold air settled on his reddened skin and removing his own gloves as Ebrisa worked on his boots and woolen socks, but it was still much too hot. His freed fingers undid the lacing on his thick pants and shoved at the hide to be rid of them, only for Ebrisa to slide them down his legs, leaving him in just his smallclothes. He heard Ebrisa leave, the open tent flap letting in a blessed chill, but almost too quickly it was gone and the tent secured.

Ebrisa pressed her snow-filled handkerchief against his forehead, frowning in concern. “I should have come by earlier. Where are your tonics?”

“Doesn't matter,” Cullen mumbled.

“Of course it matters. I could have helped before you got this bad.” She moved the icepack to his cheek, freeing his head for a soft kiss. “I didn't see the bottles in your office. Where did you move them?”

“They're gone,” he grunted, shutting his eyes against the dim light.

Ebrisa cooled his other cheek, concern building. “Why didn't you tell me sooner? I could have brought you more.”

“I don't _want_ more.”

“But you have to take something for the pain.”

“That's the problem, I _have to_.” Cullen pushed her hand away and sat up on an arm, turning his back to the healer. “The doses I started with weren't working, so I took more and more just to get the same relief. I needed the tonics to get past the pain, to focus, but then I- Ebrisa, it was almost at the point where I couldn't function without them.”

“Sounds like you might have built up a tolerance. I can try another recipe, try something with different ingredients.” She pressed the snow against the back of his neck. “It will be okay. I'll get you a new tonic to-”

“I don't want them!” Cullen snapped, sitting up all the way and still refusing to look at her out of shame. “If I'm just replacing one dependency with another, then whats the point of trying to break the Chantry's chains on me? How can I hope to get away from lyrium when I go chasing after any bottle to soothe the aches?”

Ebrisa was quiet for a long time, finally understanding, and searched her mind for some other method that could ease Cullen's pain. There were salves she could make with Leopold's venom, but they took time and even if she started now, it would be morning before even a small amount was ready. The idea of Cullen suffering through the night without any sort of balm made her feel like a poor healer and a worse partner.

An idea struck her suddenly that had her flushing as she recalled several personal journals from renowned healers and a series of experiments they had all run at one time or another – some of the men being thorough enough to verify their findings with multiple trials. “I,” Ebrisa's voice cracked and she cleared her throat to try again. “I may know of another way I can relieve the pain. There's a method I've read about that may help. It's supposed to lessen pain, soothe stress and anxiety, and even improve sleep.”

“A method?” Cullen slowly relaxed. “Why haven't you mentioned this before?”

“Well, I mean, I don't have any experience in it and I don't even know if it _will_ help, but its been recorded as being very beneficial and I thought that maybe I could try.” Ebrisa swallowed nervously. “I can do this to help you.”

“Alright,” he sighed. “We'll give it a try.” She passed him the handkerchief before standing and he returned it to his head, still trying to cool down. He heard Ebrisa shuffling behind him, cords sliding and fabric rustling, but it was the soft thud of clothing hitting the floor that finally drew his attention. Cullen looked over his shoulder, expecting to see that Ebrisa had gathered up his discarded garb and set them to the side in way of cleaning up, but the real sight awaiting him had the man turning around fully.

Ebrisa stood before him in only her smallclothes, having stripped to the final layer of modesty just like him, and had her full attention on her breast band. He had seen her in various states of undress before, but always in sections, and never so openly bare. The handkerchief fell to the floor with a wet plop, alerting Ebrisa that Cullen had seen her and she instinctively brought in her arms to try and cover herself. She stopped and forced her arms back to their previous position, though her fingers remained in tight fists.

He shook his head, thinking he might be having some sort of fever-induced hallucination. “Ebrisa? What are you doing?”

“We're going to have sex.” She said the words evenly, carefully enunciating each one as though trying to convince herself.

Cullen blinked, mouth dropped open slightly, as he tried to figure out if he had just heard correctly. “I'm sorry, what?”

“As I said,” she began slowly, inching closer to him, “I've read a lot about this. Its that, well, the act of intercourse makes a lot of changes in the body. Good ones. I-I can refer you to the journal entries that go over the trial results.” Her fingers uncurled and returned to the front of her breast band, fumbling with the laces. “And its not just one country – you know how some Rivaini healers get strange ideas – lots of... lots of people have studied this, so, its practically a proven theory.”

She was trembling nervously, the shaking doubling as Cullen took hold of her hips and pulled her closer. Ebrisa expected him to slide down her smalls or guide her on top of him, but instead he simply rested his head against her stomach. The heat from his skin felt scolding and she tensed, waiting for his next move, but none came.

“Not like this, Ebrisa.”

The woman took a deep breath, trying to gather her resolve. “No, I can do this. You need relief and a distraction and I can do both.”

Cullen pulled back, placing a small string of chaste kisses up the massive scar on her abdomen before looking up at the woman he loved. “I've never wanted you to force yourself to do something you weren't ready for, and I certainly don't want our first time to be a _treatment_.” He took her hands in his, pulling them away from her chest and gently running his thumbs across her knuckles. “I want it to be a beautiful memory for you.” He smiled lightly. “And I'd like to be able to remember it, as well. The way my head is now, even if you _were_ ready, I likely wouldn't be able to recall a single thing.”

Ebrisa looked away, ashamed for both failing to help and belittling Cullen's love. “But there must be something I can do...”

He was quite for a long while, pondering how to proceed. “Sleep with me?”

The woman gawked at him, eyes wide. “You just said not to!”

Cullen would have blushed if his skin wasn't already so red. “No, I didn't mean sex, I meant sleep. _Just_ sleep, like the first night you returned to me.” He smiled sheepishly, swinging her hands lightly in an endearing, almost childish, way. “That was the best rest I ever had, and I could certainly use a peaceful night.”

It was equally true for Ebrisa, even if she had been thrown to the ground, nearly slapped, and repeatedly woken up throughout the night. When the nightmares weren't plaguing Cullen, the warmth of his body and the weight of his limbs had been so soothing that Ebrisa could have slept through a blight. There was just something so... natural, so _right_ , about laying in Cullen's arms and she couldn't help but notice how easily she fit against him, as though her body was molded specifically to do so.

“Oh, well,” Ebrisa glanced at their clothes strewn across the floor, “I suppose I best snuff out the lights. You go ahead and lay down.”

She picked up the closest piece and held it against her torso for a bit of modesty before venturing out into the office. The candles went out quickly, but a lantern hanging from the central support was just high enough to be out of easy reach and Ebrisa stretched on her toes to swat at the illumination. A gust of frigid air blew into the tent and up her back, making Ebrisa squeak and whip around, clutching what she now recognized as Cullen's undershirt to her chest.

A recruit, one of the newer ones that signed on after Carver was declared Maker-sent, stood in the entrance staring at her. Knowing she'd been caught in a very compromising position and that this green soldier had none of Rylen's discretion, Ebrisa decided to own the situation and hoped her air of authority would keep the man's mouth shut.

“The commander is taking an early night, so whatever it is you needed from him will have to wait until morning.” Ebrisa held her head high and her posture noble, acting as though she was fully dressed and not simply in barely shielded smallclothes.

“Oh, um, of course,” the recruit mumbled. “I just had these reports to turn in.”

Ebrisa glanced down at the papers in his hand. “You may set them on the desk, just be sure that in the future you do not delay your work until after supper. It leaves precious little time for the commander to go over reports when everyone files last minuet.”

The man nodded, moving quickly to the desk and setting the small bundle down. “Of course ma'am, sorry.” He moved to leave, but Ebrisa held out a hand.

“Could you be so kind as to get the light, Recruit...?”

“Jim -uh, James -, ma'am.” He reached up and unhooked the lantern, setting it on the desk as well. “If there's nothing else?”

Ebrisa shook her head. “No, thank you, that will be all.” As soon as he left, Ebrisa let out a shaky sigh of relief. The recruit had been respectful enough, so at the very least he didn't think her a camp follower or harlot, but in all likelihood word would spread across camp by morning that the commander had a naked woman in his tent. Ebrisa extinguished the last light and moved back to Cullen, flushing as a terrible thought struck her. If Cullen had agreed to her original plan, then that recruit would have walked in on their bedroom activities.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the second scene written for a while now, hence how I was able to get this chapter out on schedule, despite my decrease in writing time. (might also be why it flows a bit differently)


	14. Instincts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little trigger warning-y at the beginning, I guess? This is actually partially pulled from personal experience.
> 
> This is the first bit of writing I've done in a long time and is not beta'd, so please understand if it flows weird.

Both agreed that, given the awkward way Ebrisa had propositioned herself, it would be better to take a small moment of their time to put on at least a little bit of clothing. She insisted Cullen change into something dry, seeing as he'd sweated through what he had been wearing that day, and he ended up in a pair of roughspun trousers that were truly far too thin for the mountain air. He settled on the pallet while Ebrisa pulled her shift back on, doing his best to avert his eyes and give the woman some degree of the privacy she'd abandoned earlier.

They didn't embrace closely like the few times they'd shared the bedding prior, partially from Ebrisa's lingering embarrassment and partially to prevent Cullen's still feverish skin from breaking into sweats again. The couple lay side by side as close as they dared, holding hands in a comforting link between them. Before long, Cullen was snoring lightly while Ebrisa stared into the darkness, awake not because she found the sound of his slumber distracting, but because she was more than a little concerned about his fear of becoming dependent on tonics.

If internal remedies were going to be shunned by the man, then really all she could hope to do was try to produce similar results with external methods. She went over recipes for salves and ointments in her mind, cataloging what could and could not be made based on the supplies they had on hand, and ultimately determined she would have to devise something new just for Cullen. Leopold's venom would definitely be a key component and exceedingly helpful to the task, but it would take her longer than she hoped to bring any sort of relief for her partner's daily pains.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Cullen muttered something next to her that she didn't quite catch. Ebrisa turned her head to look at him, barely able to make the man out in the dark tent, and wondering how long he'd been awake. She opened her mouth to ask him to repeat himself, the words coming out in a sudden squeak of surprise as Cullen rolled on top of her and clumsily captured her lips. The kiss was hard and awkward as the near entire weight of his body trapped Ebrisa beneath him. Her immediate thought was that he'd simply missed in the dark, so she struggled to adjust the angle of her head to accommodate Cullen's own and morph the kiss into something that could be enjoyable, but the longer she tried the more difficult it became to breathe.

Just as her lungs were beginning to ache, Cullen broke away and raised himself up on an elbow. Ebrisa took in a gasping breath of much-needed air, pressing her hands to his chest in hopes of preventing further crushing. As a new question was forming on her tongue, Cullen spoke a little clearer against her cheek, and this time she did hear him.

“I love you,” he groaned, sliding his lips over Ebrisa's skin to her ear, stubble lightly grazing along her jaw.

She breathed out a short laugh at the tickling sensation, rubbing her hands affectionately along his arms. “Feeling better, I take it?”

Cullen pressed a kiss below her ear in lieu of answering. “The things you do to me...” He kissed her neck again, following it with a light nip, Ebrisa gasping and clutching his biceps in surprise at the sudden action. It was a move he'd used before that, while unexpected, was usually well received and followed by a soft, dusting of a kiss to soothe the mild jolt. Instead, Cullen began a wet trail along her neck with his mouth, teeth, and tongue, becoming harsher and more insistent the farther down he went.

“ _Ouch,_ ” Ebrisa hissed after a particularly hard bite. “Cullen, that hurt.”

The man continued on as though he hadn't heard her, hands sliding up her torso as he began to run out of skin for his dissent.

“Cullen, _stop_.” She pushed against him with her hands, trying to move him away from her. Every time they'd tried to be intimate – no matter who initiated it – Ebrisa would inevitable call it to a halt. Something would feel strange, or she'd become self conscious, or anxiety or fear would get the better of her and she'd just want it all to end.

Every time she told Cullen to stop, he did and he wouldn't question unless Ebrisa brought it up first. This time, he didn't, and his calloused fingers trailed along her neckline, searching for laces that weren't there so he might loosen the fabric and expose more flesh for his questing mouth.

“Cullen, please,” she urged, now trying to free her pinned body as panic began to shoot up her limbs. “You're _hurting_ me.”

With a muffled growl of frustration, Cullen gripped the fabric of her shift in both hands and tore it open. Ebrisa screamed in surprise and – to her shame – just a little bit of fear.

Then, nothing happened.

The man above her sat motionless, each hand perfectly still as it held the rended fabric open. Not moving, not speaking, Ebrisa could only hope that he had returned to his senses. “Cullen?”

Her soft, inquisitive voice broke through whatever daze he was in and Cullen quickly scrambled off of the pallet and out of the tent. His retreat only confused Ebrisa further and she quickly followed, running out into the snow after him. She found him pacing near the tree line in only his trousers, hands running through his hair and over his arms as if trying to find a position comfortable enough for him to arrange his thoughts.

The crunching of the frozen snow beneath Ebrisa's bare feet gave away her approach, giving Cullen enough time to turn away and prepare himself.

“Don't,” he warned, holding out a hand in her direction, “don't come near me.”

She stalled her steps, but didn't concede any of the closeness that she'd already earned. “Cullen, what's going on?”

The man glanced at her briefly from over his shoulder, too quick a look to actually see anything, but enough of a turn for Ebrisa to register the shame rolling over him. “I... didn't think it was real.”

The heavy, sluggish movements, the slurred speech, and the temporary deafness suddenly made more sense. “You were dreaming...?”

He nodded, then threw back his head and tossed a hand in the air. “First rest all month without a nightmare and I go and... and...” He trailed off, trying to find the proper words to describe his behavior. “Ebrisa, I assaulted you.”

Denying or confirming his claim was difficult with her nerves still so rattled, so the woman decided to ignore it for the time being. “Do you dream of that often?”

“When I'm graced with dreams? Yes, they are filled with you and of being with you.” Cullen turned fully to face her, desperate to make her understand the sincerity of his words. “They are not usually that frenzied or forceful, but-” He stopped abruptly, eyes widening as he finally got a look at what he'd done. Reddened skin and blooming bruises ran over Ebrisa's neck and chest, dotted with defined bite marks and stopping just at the edge of her torn shift that she held together with one hand. “I hurt you...”

He reached out to better inspect her wounds at the same time that Ebrisa's free hand flew up to try and block the area from sight, the reflective action sending troubling signals for the both of them. Cullen curled his fingers into a fist and brought it down onto his forehead, unfurling them and dragging his palm down his face. “ _Maker_ , Ebrisa,” he croaked out, disgust and shame strangling his words. “What would I have done? How else would I have hurt you?”

A shiver ran through the woman that Cullen didn't miss and she honestly couldn't say if it was from the frozen night air or fear. She had tried to stop him with words and shoves, but short of using her magic there wasn't any real way Ebrisa could have overpowered him, and they both knew it. “Come on,” she quietly urged, dropping her hand from her neck to beckon Cullen forward. “Let's continue this discussion in your tent.”

He shook his head firmly, going so far as to move further away. “I can't go back in there with you.”

“You aren't even wearing shoes. You'll freeze.” She tried to smile encouragingly, ignoring her own icy toes. “We can talk everything through wrapped in warm furs, standing in your office.”

The man was unable to hold her gaze, dropping his head to the side and angling his cold body away. “I can't trust myself with you right now, and you shouldn't either.”

“Cullen-”

“You should return to your quarters,” he cut in, “where you'll be safe.”

Even as he tried to block himself off, Ebrisa could see the tangled emotions running through him. The shame and self-loathing were worse than she'd ever seen with him and knew that it would only increase the longer he stayed in his own head. This needed to be discussed, needed to be worked through, but Ebrisa had never tried to ease those kinds of thoughts while being the subject of them. “I can't just leave you alone like this,” she said softly, concern evident.

Cullen smiled at her, and in the tiny moment that faint expression lasted, she knew he cared for her all the more. His eyes closed and the man turned away, shoulders hunched and posture defeated by his own inner demons. “Please, love, that's exactly what you should do.”

Knowing Cullen would not be swayed and that she could not drag him to follow, Ebrisa returned to his tent and hastily gathered the rest of her clothing. She tried to make as much noise as possible as she left so Cullen would know she was gone and as she retreated to the clinic in her bare feet, all Ebrisa could do was hope that the man she continually swore she trusted more than anyone else didn't stand alone in the snow for the rest of the night.

\----

Ebrisa had tried to sleep, knowing that she would need to be clearheaded when Cullen came to talk, but the thought of him arriving while she slumbered and leaving with nothing resolved made her stay up the rest of the night. The sun was almost at its zenith and the woman was well into her books, pulling pieces of different recipes together to fashion one of her own, when a knock at the open clinic door disrupted her thoughts and calculations. She looked up quickly, abandoning the work in hopes of seeing the intended patient for it, but couldn't stop the disappointment from playing across her tired features when a different man came into view.

He was a relatively new recruit to the Inquisition who she had seen around the stables, but hadn't officially met yet. The man was, for lack of better term, fairly burly, and Ebrisa struggled to recall what it was that set him apart from the other recruits. The information would normally have come to her easily, but the lack of rest and simmering anxiety about the night before was making connections difficult to form.

“Pardon the interruption, Healer, but I think your pet has gotten out of hand and Harritt requests your immediate assistance.”

His voice broke through her thoughts once again and she refocused, albeit sheepishly. Ebrisa pulled on as convincing a smile as she could muster and nodded with feigned energy before following the man out the door. They made their delayed introductions as they walked through the village, the forgotten information coming back to the enchanter that _Ser Blackwall_ was a Grey Warden. As far as Ebrisa knew, Wardens weren't experts on demons or the Fade, and it made Leliana's interest in him joining seem odd. An experienced warrior was certainly useful, but not necessarily for the spymaster.

 

Though Master Dennet himself had not yet arrived, several of his trusted hands had already taken up residence in Haven. They worked hard to establish a proper stable to house the horses they brought with and the pens now provided space for some of the more exotic mounts obtained by the Inquisition. Mineave's creature research had led to the lure and capture of a Hunter Shade dracolisk in Orlais. The beast was strange to behold, bearing a similar head and scales of the much larger dragons and drakes, but it was in the shape of its body that made it resemble the other mounts. Carver was incredibly enthusiastic about the addition to the stables, as his family always seemed to have an innate fascination with dragons, even if it would be some time before anyone could ride the unbroken beast.

What the Champion had failed to remember was the well established rivalry between wyverns and dragons, and dracolisks were just close enough for Leopold to take immediate issue to the newcomer. The wyvern had started with simple intimidation, hoping the death glares and deep growls would scare the smaller beast off, but the wild creature was unphased and things quickly escalated to the point that the pair could be heard snarling throughout the entire village.

A small crowd of onlookers stood at a fair distance from the stables, trying their best to appear busy with anything other than rubbernecking, and Ebrisa was given a wide birth to navigate through them. She had expected to find Leopold perched on the smithy's roof, growling his displeasure down at the smaller scaled creature, but even before she made it past the crowd, she could tell that was obviously not the case. Leopold's shoulders were arched aggressively, jaw hovering open as he slowly pressed one foot against the dracolisk's pen, the wooden bars beginning to crack under his weight.

“Leopold!” Ebrisa snapped with both her voice and her fingers, instantly grabbing the beast's attention. She pointed to the ground directly in front of her and waited, expression stern, until the wyvern was at her feet. “I didn't expect you to become friends with the dracolisk, but you've grown far too hostile and it will no longer be tolerated.”

Leopold growled lowly, turning his head back towards the pen accusingly.

“I don't care if he antagonized you – he hasn't been broken in or trained yet, you have.” Ebrisa folded her arms across her chest, staring down the wyvern in his good eye. “This is very disappointing.”

Leopold dropped close to the ground, tail slowly sliding back and forth in the snow as a whine creaked in his throat. He was trying to appear sympathetic, hoping to end the angry tone building in the enchanter's voice. It didn't work.

“You're going to stay outside the clinic all day for the rest of the week.” She motioned towards the general direction of the cabin, but kept her gaze forward. “I had hoped I could trust you to keep your base instincts in check, but it seems you enjoy behaving like a wild beast!”

The wyvern dropped his head and turned away, sulking off towards the ordered destination, but not before huffing a bitter noise at the dracolisk. The show over, villagers and soldiers alike dispersed to resume their previous activities as Ebrisa calmed herself down. Yelling at the wyvern wouldn't go very far in teaching him to play nice with others, she knew that, but her sleep deprived mind had been unable to come up with a better way to handle the situation.

She turned to leave as well, and through the departing crowd, the enchanter found Cullen watching her. He dropped his eyes as soon as she saw him and turned away, walking briskly back to the training grounds. It had been the perfect chance to talk about last night – they were so close – but instead of Cullen using the time apart to process his actions to the point of discussion, he looked like he had just done something wrong all over again and Ebrisa didn't know why.

Until she remembered what she'd just yelled at Leopold.

_Base instincts. Wild beast._

The comment wasn't meant for Cullen – it was barely meant for Leopold – but the commander seemed to have taken the words to heart nonetheless. Ebrisa tried to come up with what to say, searching for the phrases that would clear the air between them, but the problem could not be resolved with a one-sided conversation. She would need to speak with – not at – Cullen, but she'd have to catch him first.

“Oh! There you are!” Belinda stepped out of nowhere – or Ebrisa was just too distracted to notice the very chipper templar walking straight at her. “We must have just missed each other coming the other way.”

Ebrisa blinked twice, refocusing on the world around her, and furrowed her brow slightly. “Is it time for our session already? I didn't realize it had gotten so late.”

Belinda, still in her armor, shook her head and waved a hand. “There's some time yet before our little knitting circle. I was bringing you a patient.”

That had the mage snapping to full attention. “Someone's injured?”

“Nothing too bad, but it does need a looking at.”

The women crossed through the village gate together, Ebrisa casting what she thought was a subtle glance at Cullen's tent while Belinda explained how the recruit had become hurt.

“And then a tree just ran right up to Jim and socked him in the face. Sent him flying twenty yards.”

Ebrisa stopped mid step and turned fully to the templar. “What?”

Belinda giggled briefly behind her hand. “Oh, so you can hear me. I thought perhaps the commander had captured all of your senses.”

There were a lot of things she'd been able to talk about with the Starkhaven soldier, but Cullen's unconscious actions the night before were far too private to discuss with her, never mind that it would be wildly inappropriate to mention any of the commander's bedroom activities to a subordinate. Still, Ebrisa needed to say _something_.

“I haven't spoken to Cullen all day,” she quietly relented. “I think he's avoiding me.” He wasn't turning tail as obviously as he did years ago back in the Gallows, but Ebrisa was certain of it.

The other woman believed otherwise. “Oh, its not you, dear. We just lost another patrol in the mountains and everyone's a bit consumed with that. Commander's been getting reports all day filled with nothing but bad news.”

It was difficult to feel better about that, but it did allow Ebrisa to break from her spiraling thoughts for a few minutes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
When the Breach was still unstable, demons ran rampant all over the valley. Rifts formed at a moments notice and previously safe locations no longer were. It was one of the many reasons the survivors relocated to the semi-fortified Haven - even if the Veil ripped open on their doorstep, they still had a door. After Carver closed the first rift and ceased the rupture in the sky's growth, new tears stopped appearing and the area could be properly secured once again.

Cullen arranged parties consisting of recruits lead by a seasoned soldier to patrol the perimeter of Haven while Leliana's scouts mapped out the locations of existing rifts and heavy concentrations of demons. That information was used to dispatch squads of more experienced warriors to trouble areas. If the rifts were kept cleared, Carver could venture out with a small team when he was back from the field and seal them easily. It had been working fairly well and rather smoothly, until the squads began reporting that herds of demons were much smaller than previously noted. It was odd, and Cullen kept track of the locations in hopes of finding a pattern or reason for the shift, concerned that the enemy was organizing. Rylen joked that he was only making work for himself and that the commander ought to enjoy the bit of good luck, but then the reports changed.

It was no longer just demons that were disappearing, but wildlife too. Again, Rylen saw no issue, but when squads didn't return, he relented that Cullen might not have been paranoid after all. The commander was a little glad for it, as it provided his mind a distraction from his behavior with Ebrisa, and that initial spark of relief turned his stomach. Soldiers – _his_ soldiers – were missing and, if the pattern proved correct, would not be returning.

By late afternoon, what was presumed to be their remains had been found and the scouting report placed them solidly in the center of the strange disappearances. It was not very near any of the discovered rifts, but evidence of magical fire was all around and that meant the culprit was either a mage – though someone surviving in the wilderness alone for so long was unlikely – or a rage demon. In either case, templar skills would be immensely helpful in taking down the enemy, and Cullen worked through the setting of the sun arranging a platoon with as many of the Chantry trained warriors as he could. Many templars were already dispatched across Ferelden, holding camps and stabilizing regions, and it would take too long to recall them.

“Cullen.”

The commander tensed, crinkling the papers under his hand as he willed himself to tear his eyes from his desk and look at the person he'd been trying to avoid all day. He met Ebrisa's eyes surprisingly quickly and he wasn't sure if it was because he had the confidence to do so or if it was to keep his gaze from lingering anywhere inappropriate on her body. The fear, anger, and disgust that he expected to find weren't there and Ebrisa looked down at the seated commander with open concern.

Cullen opened his mouth to speak, knowing he had to say something, but the words wouldn't come. He released a tired sigh instead and dropped his gaze back to the reports and maps on the desk. Perhaps they could ease their way into the real conversation.

“You said you were dreaming.”

Then again, perhaps not.

He pushed away from the desk and stood up, rubbing at his neck as he took a few steps away from it. “I was.”

Ebrisa nodded, accepting the answer as fact and not an excuse. “You said you do that a lot, fantasize about... ” She looked away briefly, unable to keep her eyes focused as she continued. “Is that because we haven't... are you frustrated with me?”

Cullen dropped his hand and jaw in surprise. “What?”

“I'd understand if you were,” the woman mumbled. “ _I'm_ frustrated with me. Maybe it would have been better if you hadn't stopped-”

“- _No_ ,” he cut her off quickly, using a louder and firmer voice usually employed on the troops. Cullen took a breath and reached out with both hands, taking hold of the woman's upper arms and rubbing his thumbs over her shoulders in what he hoped was a soothing manner. “No,” he said again, much softer, but still firm. “Must I repeat myself from when I turned down your _treatment_? Our first time should be enjoyable and memorable for the both of us.”

She raised her eyes to meet his, the fear he'd expected before now manifesting itself. “But if you're fantasizing about taking me to bed to the point that you're acting out your dreams, your patience with me is clearly wearing thin.”

It occurred to Cullen then that Ebrisa wasn't concerned about him hurting her or forcing her, but that he might simply tire of waiting for her and move on. She hadn't said it in so many words, but the notion that Ebrisa possibly wasn't confident enough in their relationship to think it could survive without advancing to the next level of intimacy stung deeply. Had he not done enough to prove his dedication to her that she thought he might stray? Did he not show his love often enough that doubt could take even the faintest hold?

“I dream of other things, too.” He moved a hand to her cheek, cupping it gently and directing her focus to him. “Holding you in my arms without disruption, styling your hair in the intricate ways you used to wear it, just hours and hours of your smile.” He held back voicing what he fantasized about the most, kept the hopeful visions of the future to himself until the world was safe enough to achieve them, and pressed his forehead to her own. “My patience with you is boundless, as is my love.”  
He felt her smile against his gloved hand.

“I'll try to not test those limits so often.”

“I look forward to it.”

Ebrisa exhaled silently and took a small step back to better meet Cullen's eyes. “And are you alright? You were being pretty hard on yourself before.”

The physical evidence of the night before was gone – the bites healed away and the ripped shift mended enough that the split appeared to be an intended seam – but Cullen's doubts still lingered. He knew he would never intentionally harm Ebrisa, but he could not yet speak for his unconscious self. “I'll need a bit more time, I think. As much as I enjoy laying beside you, I believe it would be best to keep to our own quarters.”

She took his hand from her cheek and entwined their fingers, smiling softly as she nodded. “So long as we can still talk in them.”

“Of course.” Cullen smiled back, feeling the anxiety slip away. “You know, I sent someone to the clinic this afternoon and they remained untended. Did you send them away?”

Ebrisa pouted her lips slightly as she thought, trying to recall the events of the day. “Ser Belinda brought recruit James in, but as soon as I tried to examine him, he said he was fine and ran off.”

“That's odd. I asked him if he saw you and the lad blurted out 'no, ser, I would never'.”

A small blush found its way to the enchanter's cheeks, the memory between her mistake and Cullen's coming back to her - James had indeed seen her in a very indecent state in the commander's tent. Hoping to change the conversation before Cullen could question the new shade of her skin, Ebrisa looked around the _office_ for something to talk about. Her eyes settled on the marked up map laying on the desk and remembered something else.

“I heard another squad went missing?”

The commander broke his hold and returned to the nearly completed roster. “I'm afraid they've gone from MIA to KIA.” He heard Ebrisa gasp and follow. “A team is going out first thing in the morning to deal with _whatever_ it was that did it.”

Ebrisa studied the map as he wrote down another name, using her limited knowledge of the area to figure out the target location. It was between Haven and the temple ruins, along one of the main paths. “Where is this? Somewhere in the valley...”

He didn't answer right away, only speaking when Ebrisa looked up from the map. “Part of an old mine network,” Cullen said pensively. “You were found in this area.”

Bits and pieces of her waking dream came to mind, fragments of information Solas had help her recover from the Conclave explosion. The last time she had felt Renata, the last place she had sensed her. “I have to go.”

“Oh.” Cullen furrowed his brow a bit in confusion. “I suppose this is good night then.”

She shook her head, turning her attention back to the map. “I have to go there tomorrow. I need to look for my aunt.”

The spirit had been a great help to Ebrisa in the Gallows, keeping harmful beings away in the Fade and protecting her from harm in the waking world. Even after the enchanter became a skilled spirit healer, Renata was always the most loyal and the first to come to her side. After the Breach, however, not a single spirit had responded to any of Ebrisa's pleas.

The mission tomorrow was going to be dangerous, but if Ebrisa said she needed to go for Renata, Cullen knew she wouldn't quietly stay behind. “Be ready to leave by first light. We head out at dawn.”

If Ebrisa had to go, then so did he.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Toku, where have you been?!" I hear you ask. Well, the reason for my absence arrived on July 7th weighing 8lbs and 11oz. That's right, I had a baby, and my brain is slowly allowing me to form sentences between holding and cuddling my little one.  
> By the way, her middle name is "Ebrisa"


	15. Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the well wishes, everyone!
> 
> Finding time to write is a struggle and time to edit even more so. Please forgive the lack of update schedule and odd flow my writing may have taken.

When they left Haven, the freshly fallen snow had been a glittering display of iridescent colors, catching the morning sun like a sea of pearls. Now, hours into their hike, it was cold, cumbersome, and bright beyond reason. Though Ebrisa had been in the Frostbacks for a good many months, she still had trouble properly preparing for the elements and found herself constantly blinking and squinting against the light for fear of getting snow-blindness while the numerous Fereldans in the group moved through the knee-high powder without issue. Despite her soaked boots, frozen nose, and overexerted muscles, she did not turn back and return to the village.

They had already passed close enough to an open rift that they should have run into demons, yet the valley was quiet. Reports from the day before had counted at least a dozen entities and the party anticipated having to fight through more, but the scouts signaled back to the group that the area was clear. Signs of battle were obscured to near invisibility by the fresh snow, making the skirmish at least as many hours old as the group had been out, and the faintest markings of tracks pointed them in a new direction. Cullen ordered them forward, but warned against letting their guard down.

Ebrisa paused at the commander's side as he surveyed the path ahead, unconsciously standing closer than was proper on a mission to both take shelter from the wind and bask in his radiating body heat. “I haven't heard so much as a bird chirping since we crested that last hill. I get the feeling that isn't normal.”

“It's not,” he confirmed. “There is some force at work here seemingly acting without prejudice against anything that moves. It may be slaying what it deems as trespassers now, but we can not allow it to get any closer to Haven.” Cullen moved his eyes from the horizon to the woman beside him. “We still don't know the cause of this culling, and though its removed some of our enemies, it's also taken the lives of far too many of our people.”

In addition to not hearing any wildlife, Ebrisa was also not sensing any spirits. She had hoped that as she drew closer to the last place she'd seen Renata, she would begin to feel her aunt, but with each frozen step she felt that hope diminish. The Breach made Ebrisa's connection with the Fade fuzzy at such a proximity – not weakened, but less focused – and many of the skills she used to rely on as a Spirit Healer were far out of her reach. It made her work in Haven more difficult, but what distressed her the most was being unable to simply converse with her Fade companions. Ebrisa had come to rely on them too much, using them as a sounding board for the issues she couldn't discuss with anyone else – especially Cullen – and keeping things locked inside her mind was slowly pushing the woman back into her old ways. She didn't want to revert to the meek, unconfident person she was before. She didn't want to be less than she was now.

The forward scout held up his hand, signaling the group to halt. The absence of crunching snow and clanking armor allowed the eerie silence of the mountain to return, and the soldiers stood stock still as they awaited further instruction. Ebrisa had not gained their military discipline by simple proximity to templars alone, and looked around anxiously for whatever had alerted the scout in the first place. Just as she was about to whisper her curiosity, she heard it – an otherworldly growling on the wind.

Cullen snapped to action and issued silent orders, directing the soldiers around the next hill to flank the nearby group of demons. Ebrisa stayed by his side as they maneuvered into position, carefully observing the creatures below the open rift before anyone so much as notched an arrow. In all of the previous encounters in the area, the demons meandered around the tear in the Veil – too unfamiliar with the mortal realm to wander away from the path back to the Fade – but these entities were fighting amongst themselves.

Upon closer inspection, Cullen realized that the demons were not simply turning on each other, but focused on a single entity. It was a variation of Rage, the same molten red appearance and heavy movements, but held itself straighter while the flames surrounding its form burned a hotter blue. If the greater demon was fighting one-on-one, it likely would have no trouble defeating the others, but swarmed as it was, the outcome wasn't so obvious. The commander determined that this monster was the being they had come to hunt down and signaled the dispersed soldiers to charge the demons while their focus was on the joint enemy.

Ebrisa hung back from the chaos of the fighting, using a borrowed staff to help direct her support magic after dropping a shield over herself. It was Cullen's only stipulation for allowing her to join the mission and – though she felt it was a waste of mana – she knew it was best to heed him. She was no strategist, but Ebrisa did her best to follow the flow of battle to aid where it was needed most. Healing here, barrier there, a _glyph of haste_ – the enchanter did her best to not see faces and allow Cullen to become just another fighter. He was capable, he didn't need her doting on him, and in the back of her mind she knew doing so would only make things difficult for him later. All it took was a few rumors that the commander couldn't hold his own in a fight without his lady mage's aid and he would lose the respect of the troops. He had to lead by example and she had to let him.

The Inquisition had almost reached the center rage demon when the rift overhead flared. The pull of the Fade gave the demons a brief span of lethargy and the soldiers pressed them, unwilling to let such an advantageous moment slip by. Those in the fray missed the streak of energy shoot from the rift and into the side of the hill, but Ebrisa saw. She watched the spot, waiting for the demon to charge out of the snow to join the fight, and failed to notice the build up of magic beneath her until it was too late. Terror shot from the portal in the ground, tossing Ebrisa onto her back and weakening her barrier considerably. Her head swam from the sudden movement, but her concentration didn't waiver as Terror screeched in her face. The ringing in her ears made the sounds of battle difficult to make out over the gangly creature's strikes against her magical shield, but she was almost certain Cullen had called out her name.

Ebrisa used Mind Blast, hoping to gain enough time to get distance between herself and Terror. She climbed to her feet and ran towards the battle, knowing that she was unprepared to take the creature on alone with so much mana already spent on the others. The enchanter glanced over her shoulder to gauge how close Terror was, skidding to a stop when she found the space behind her clear. It sprang up in front of her and swatted the woman to the side with the back of its large hand before she could even raise her staff. That time, she definitely heard Cullen.

Ebrisa felt a rush of heat above her and Terror's screech reverberate through her bones, but she had a sense that she wasn't its target. A tingling sensation in the back of her mind told her to stay down and she twisted in the snow to watch as the strange rage demon attacked Terror with more ferocity than it had displayed earlier. It was gravely injured, but fought with such vigor that Ebrisa wondered if it knew Terror from the Fade and had some sort of personal grudge. There was something familiar in the way the flames danced around its body, something soothing in the warmth of its fire, something reassuring in its movements.

A hand closed around her upper arm and pulled her away to safety just as Inquisition soldiers joined the fight between the two demons, attacking both with the same determination. She couldn't take her eyes off the rage demon, watching it strike at man and monster as its chaotic aura untwisted itself in her mind to the point of recognition.

“Ebrisa,” Cullen said insistently, trying to force her attention to him at her side. “Are you alright? Can you stand?”

She shook her head dumbly as she continued to stare at Rage. “I don't...”

“Is something broken?” Cullen checked her over quickly, seeking out injuries that would require attention while the others were taking care of the last two demons. Supplies on hand were limited and Ebrisa was the only healer among them, meaning that even if Cullen didn't have a personal reason for attending to her, the enchanter's wounds would still take priority. They had lost a few men in the battle, less then expected, but more than they could afford.

Ebrisa dropped her eyes from the demon, head reeling with what her heart was telling her. She'd had discussions with Solas about magic and the Breach and theorized its affects on spirits, taking what she knew from her Circle studies and what he knew from his Fade walking into account. Things Chantry scholars could only guess at had been confirmed or denied by the elven mage, but many topics remained largely unknown. Something Solas had been able to explain to the enchanter was that demons did not always start out that way. Spirits had certain natures that flourished in the Fade, but were restricted in the physical world and if they were somehow forced against that nature, they would change – corrupt – into something different.

There had been nothing like the Breach before. It wasn't impossible to say it could force the same transformation.

Renata had been with her when the sky split – Ebrisa had felt her aunt's aura protecting her from the avalanche. In the memories Solas helped her recover, she could no longer feel Renata, but something was keeping her alive in the tunnels. No one else was found in the abandoned mine – alive or otherwise – but fires had been set to keep her from freezing to death. Something had been protecting her, and then she left it without a purpose.

“It's her,” Ebrisa mumbled, numbly leaning forward just as Terror was defeated.

The fighting hadn't stopped and the Inquisition soldiers managed to force the flaming demon to the ground, the templars in the group suppressing its mystical abilities as much as possible to prevent it catching a second wind and erupting in fire.

“It's her,” she repeated in a louder, clearer voice. Ebrisa scrambled to her feet, pulling out of Cullen's light hold and running across the trampled snow. “Stop it! Stop!”

A few of the soldiers hesitated at her shout, but not enough to disrupt the flow of battle. Swords flashed and fire sputtered, the demon letting out a rumbling howl of pain and finally slumping limply to the ground. Ebrisa pushed through the fighters, falling to her knees beside the melting form as it began to dissipate into ash.

“No, please, no no no.” She hovered her hands over the body, fingers trailing lightly in the dying flames. “I'm sorry, Auntie. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to leave you alone – I didn't know!” Ebrisa ignored what sense was telling her and wrapped her arms around the molten figure in a desperate hug. The flames were warm, but didn't burn her or her clothing and a soothing sensation she had missed washed over her. “This is my fault. If I had gone looking for you sooner, then maybe I could have brought you back. Maybe you wouldn't have been so far gone, wouldn't have hurt anyone...”

The soldiers had all stepped back by this point, making it easy for Ebrisa to feel Cullen's presence behind her. They didn't know what she was feeling, they couldn't know, and the tired fighters watched with apprehension as their healer mourned for a demon. There weren't any former Kirkwallers in the party save the two blondes and the warriors had no idea what was going on, but Cullen figured it out as soon as Ebrisa broke from his grasp. He didn't try to pull her away, as she feared he might, but simply stood there, ready to provide whatever she needed.

The demon, now more indigo than before, weakly lifted its head to regard the tearing up mage. An almost word rolled off its tongue, sounding softer and sweeter than any of the sounds it had made in a long, long time before loosing shape and breaking up into flecks of blue, green, and red. Ebrisa's heart squeezed in her chest and she brought her arms in, trying to hold on to the remnants of Renata for as long as possible before they left that plane forever.

Cullen knelt in the dirty snow beside her, holding an arm out in invitation, and that's when Ebrisa broke down. She fell against him, clinging to the cold armor and the warm man underneath as she cried in the center of the ring of fighters. They wouldn't understand her sorrow – they couldn't – but the man gently holding her cared enough to try.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
“Void take it all,” Ebrisa muttered in frustration, slamming down the container of deathroot powder that she had just carelessly added to her cook. She'd been unable to concentrate on the task at hand, mind drifting back to Renata, and changed recipes without realizing – ruining the entire batch of salve. It wasn't the first time that day either. She caught Adan giving her a look from the other crafting table and held back a groan, knowing she was wearing on the man's nerves for both wasting precious ingredients and making more work for him. It was a wonder the alchemist hadn't thrown her out yet.

Ebrisa turned around and dumped her bowl, movements sharp and exaggerated in hopes of expelling the heat she felt simmering below the surface before she snapped at anyone other than herself. She took a deep breath, then promised to return with a fresh harvest of always needed elfroot. In truth, the woman just wanted to retreat into a mindless task and give Adan some quiet.

She'd been making so many mistakes, forgetting details and assignments, and she had no one to blame but herself. If she'd been more attentive earlier, if she'd tried harder to find Renata before the corruption became too severe, then maybe there could have been a way to save her aunt's spirit. Solas had yet to return from the Storm Coast with Carver, but surely the elven mage knew some sort of cleansing or purifying ritual they could have used. Ebrisa hadn't been properly prepared, and it was Renata that paid the price.

That seemed to be a reoccurring theme in her life – Ebrisa did or said or thought something wrong, and someone close to her was worse off for it. Feynriel, Vemara, Edan, Renata, and so many others had met a fate that might had eluded them if not for her.

The darkening thoughts slowly swirled in her head as she carried the large woven basket across the village, wishing once again that her spirit companions from Kirkwall would be there when she slept to give her council. Ebrisa kept her mind on the unchangeable past and her eyes on the unpaved path as she walked and the double inattentiveness had her turning for the gate steps too early and smacking into Seggrit's shop tables.

“Careful, lady!” Seggrit scowled lightly, hands flying out to steady the rickety carpentry displaying his goods. “Hard enough to make a decent profit here without shelling out for repairs.”

“Sorry,” Ebrisa rushed out, dropping her empty basket to help recenter the planks. “I didn't mean to, I just... sorry.”

The merchant let out a tired sigh once he was satisfied everything was more or less the same. “I'm just going to assume that something caught your eye and drew you over. So then, what can I do for you?”

She waved a timid hand dismissively. “I was just leaving.”

“Come on now. Perusing my wares after trying to upturn the whole lot is the least you can do.”

There was a sliver of logic in that argument and Ebrisa held in her own sigh as she began to politely draw her eyes across the tables. Seggrit seemed to sell a bit of everything – clothing, jewelry, arms, armor, even some less-than-fresh herbs. Beyond the basics, he also displayed a wide range of knickknacks from hair pins to tattered books. If she had been in a better mood, Ebrisa might have picked one up and flipped through the water-damaged pages. Feeling as though she'd humored the merchant enough, Ebrisa lifted her head to bid him good day and caught sight of the larger objects displayed against the village wall behind him.

Seggrit grinned widely at the expression overtaking the woman's face. “Something really has caught your eye.”

“That harp,” she whispered, as though uncertain it was truly there.

“Ah, yes, the _harp_.” Seggrit moved back to pick up the instrument, carefully setting it down over the table's bracing. “Smaller than the variety you're used to seeing, I'm sure. This is the _Dalish_ version. Has to be small so it doesn't take up too much room in those sailing wagons of theirs.”

Ebrisa blinked at the instrument, leaning in to lightly follow the detailing with her fingertips. “Where did you find it?”

The merchant puffed out his chest a little, preparing his sales pitch. “Straight from the finest Dalish craftsman this side of the Waking Sea. We may be leagues from civilization, but my Dalish contacts are still very active. I think we can work out a fair price for it, taking shipping and handling into account, of course.”

“No.”

“No?” Seggrit squinted at the woman. “What do you mean _no_?”

“This is mine.” Ebrisa wrapped a hand around the carved halla frame, studying the strings and assessing them for damage.

“After you _pay for it_ , sure.” Seggrit grabbed hold the harp as well in case the would-be customer tried to run off with it.

“You don't understand. This is mine. I thought it lost during the Conclave explosion.” Ebrisa finally looked away from the instrument to meet the man's eyes. “I thank you for finding it, but I'll be taking it back now.”

He shook his head and placed a second hand on the frame. “As I said, my Dalish contacts delivered this to me from a very gifted artisan.”

“That's a lie,” she shot out, louder than she intended and drawing the attention of others who were previously ignoring the exchange. “This was made by Master Ilen of the Sabrae clan. A friend gave it to me in Kirkwall!”

Seggrit didn't flinch, a hearty chuckle tumbling out as he noticed the eyes on them as well. “This bares no crafter's mark, it could have been made by anyone. Besides, everyone knows that the Dalish are nomads and its no surprise that the Sabrae elves would want to get as far away from Kirkwall as possible.”

The enchanter felt anger rising inside her – anger at herself, anger at the extremists that made Kirkwall implode, anger at the man lying to her face – and the emotion was so unfamiliar and so raw that Ebrisa forgot to breathe for a moment. She shook her head once to try and clear the rage and refocus. “The entire clan was wiped out nearly four years ago.”

The merchant almost faltered at that, but managed to catch himself and clear his throat before replying. “I never said this was from those elves. There's no mark here. You can't tell the crafter any more than I can.”

“I know it's mine because it's a mistake!” Ebrisa released her hold, motioning back and forth between the neck and the soundbox with emphatic gestures. “Master Ilen's apprentices attached the wrong pieces together. No Dalish would intentionally place Sylaise's symbol with halla!”

Seggrit quickly picked the harp up and took several steps back, using the tables as a barrier to keep the woman from the disputed merchandise. “It was made with the intention of selling it to humans. Slapping a halla on a piece is a surefire way for outsiders to recognize its Dalish. _Obviously_.” He toed open a sturdy carrying case that was far from new or pristine and set the harp inside.

“ _Give it back_!”

“If you want this, you pay for it, just like everyone else!” Seggrit slammed the case closed, making the strings inside vibrate enough to release a quiet, untuned twang. “Don't think you're exempt from the rules and can get whatever you want just because you warm the commander's tent.”

The pique bubbling in her turned heavy and dropped her stomach to the ground as the enchanter realized she was being anything but dignified. Arguing vehemently with Seggrit, shouting in the middle of the street – for all intents and purposes, Ebrisa was throwing a tantrum. She noted, with mild mortification, that one of her knees was raised as though she was about to climb over the rickety table in pursuit of the merchant.

This wasn't her. This wasn't how she acted. A week ago, she never would have answered conflict with conflict, she would have sought a peaceful resolution – a compromise. She would have thought things through, acted with a plan, used persuasion instead of muted violence. Though she did not have a high-ranking position in the Inquisition, her relationship with Cullen did put her in the public eye and her actions reflected back on him.

Her actions, his consequences.

Again. She was doing it again.

 

 


	16. Tuning

All templars knew about demons. The types and variations, the abilities and weaknesses – this information was crucial to their duties and drilled into their heads during training almost as much as the Chant of Light was, least one of their charges became possessed or replaced with a demon impostor. It was this knowledge that allowed Cullen to believe Ebrisa's spirit protector wasn't a demon. Or rather, it hadn't been. There was no doubt in his mind that the creature running rampant in the mountains was a demon – a type of Rage he'd not encountered in his studies or during his career in service to the Chantry, but a demon none the less – but what he was not so certain of was Ebrisa's claim that the monster and spirit were one in the same.

She was immensely saddened – no, that was too soft a word – by the demon's death, and Cullen was having trouble supplying the amount of sympathy the enchanter needed, even if the beings were, in fact, the same. Spirits weren't truly alive in the ways people were, so he saw the death of the strange demon as just another enemy being put down. It wasn't dead, it just ceased to exist, and that may have been a contributing factor to Ebrisa's grief – there was nothing left.

Cullen had never met the spirit that guarded Ebrisa in ways he could not, but the woman told him about the entity on numerous occasions. It, for whatever reason, claimed to be her aunt. There was no way to _prove_ the claim one way or the other and he couldn't deny it was _possible._ The Fade was the realm of dreams, magic, spirits, and demons. It was also where the souls of the dead passed through on their way to the Maker's side. Whether the soul of the real Renata Lanmour lingered in the Fade to watch over her niece or one of the Maker's first children was drawn to Ebrisa and her desire for familial comfort, he couldn't say. What mattered, in the end, was that _Ebrisa_ believed it to be true.

He held her and let her cry, but was bereft of the words she needed to hear to allow healing to begin. Words had never been his strong suit, even more so when he couldn't associate her loss with one of his own. As a Spirit Healer, Ebrisa had a connection with Fade beings that Cullen never could and to add a perceived familial bond on top of that? There was really no chance he could understand.

 

Raised voices broke the commander from his musings and he twisted to regard the noise behind him. The small marketplace within the village's walls became rowdy from time to time and Seggrit was at the center more often then not, so it was easy to identify the merchant's voice from the female he was feuding with. The arguments never lasted long and Cullen faced his troops once again and waited for the inevitable scout or soldier watching the market to put an end to the ruckus. The yelling continued, growing more disruptive, and Cullen turned a half step to scowl mildly up the steps. He saw Leopold rouse from his nap atop the smithy out of the corner of his eye, the wyvern taking an interest in whatever was going on as well.

“Lieutenant, take over a moment,” Cullen ordered as he headed into the village. “It appears I must attend to this nonsense myself.”

He'd barely made it halfway up the steps before the female voice vanished, ending the argument, but Cullen was too invested to turn around. At the very least, he would need to find out why the patrolman hadn't acted in a more timely manner.

A small crowd greeted him around Seggrit's tables, the group scattering at his arrival with several of them avoiding his gaze and a few frowning suspiciously. Seggrit tossed his hands in the air once he caught sight of the commander, rolling his eyes slightly. “Oh, sure, _now_ you show up.”

Cullen took stock of the shop, noting the disheveled arrangement of the larger table, before coming to a stop before the merchant. “What's happened this time?”

“Slander, for one,” Seggrit grumbled. “I work hard providing this village with goods and take great offense at these accusations.”

Cullen wanted to groan and simply walk away – it was not in his job description to handle trading disputes – but rested his hands on the hilt of his sword and nodded at the merchant to continue on with his complaint. It was better to let the man vent to someone of authority then have him cause another disturbance, demanding to speak to Lady Montilyet. If there was any true issue, Cullen would pass the gist of it along to the ambassador later.

Seggrit straightened his posture and his jerkin, trying to appear as dignified as possible behind his rickety shop in the snowbank. “That woman, Commander, is out of control. Tries to knock over my shop, demands to see the most expensive item up close, then attempts to flee with it!” He scoffed, turning his head rather dramatically. “And she said _I_ was the thief.”

Obvious exaggerations aside, it hadn't seemed much different from other incidents Cullen had overheard. Complaints had been made both from and against Seggrit for price gauging, but it seemed odd that a barter gone wrong would have attracted such a crowd. Cullen nodded again to let the man know he was heard. “And the disputed item was...?”

Seggrit held up a finger and turned around to retrieve a case from the village wall. As he returned, a spark of recognition flickered across Cullen's mind. The case was beaten and dirty, but over all sturdy and had obviously done a fair job at protecting its contents. Contents that sat just at the edge of Cullen's memory and he couldn't help but wonder if he would have remembered if not for the lyrium.

“I told her I got this from my Dalish suppliers, but she insisted it came from some dead clan and there was no way I could have obtained it.” Seggrit set the case down and began to unlatch the side as scratching sounded behind him. “I explained that there's no crafter's mark – that these are not as rare as she claims – but your woman just about tore my arm off trying to steal this. Right in the open, mind you!” The merchant shook his head. “As I said – _out of control_.”

Cullen lifted a hand, signaling the merchant to stop. “Do you mean _Ebrisa_ was the one arguing with you?”

“You couldn't recognize her shrill voice? Surely you've had enough lover's quarrels to be familiar with it.”

The commander narrowed his eyes, the hand that still lay across his sword curling around the grip. “I beg your pardon?”

“No need to apologize, Commander, the woman is obviously a handful. Hope she makes up for it in other ways.” Seggrit opened the case and ran his thumbnail across the strings inside, sending off-key notes into the tense air he didn't notice. “Now if she still wants this thing, we can negotiate a price. Assuming, of course, you can convince her to make a public recantation of her earlier remarks.”

Wood began to creak as the failed trill died down and Cullen finally realized what the argument had been about. He stared at the harp in disbelief, knowing it to be the same instrument Ebrisa had played at Vemara's funeral, the same instrument she played to lift templar spirits during the holidays, and the very same instrument she had played to accompany her veiled love letter to him before either of them felt safe admitting their feelings out loud. It was Ebrisa's only possession that didn't have a practical purpose, the only thing she took with her from Kirkwall that wouldn't help with Conclave duties, and the single luxury Ebrisa allowed herself in all the years he'd known her.

Cullen had been unable to find the harp with Ebrisa's other belongings, only able to dig books and robes from the snow where their camp had been, and he'd deemed the thing lost like so many other items and so many, many people. It stung at first, being unable to locate such a treasured possession of the enchanter, but when Ebrisa returned to Cullen alive and well after he thought her dead for nearly a week, he tossed the worry from his mind and focused on the woman he could hold in his arms again. Thinking back over the beginning of Seggrit's complaint, Cullen was easily able to piece together Ebrisa's side of the conversation and her raised voice and frantic actions made far more sense.

The commander turned a much more critical eye to the merchant's wares, noting some of the arms and armor were pieces Carver had brought back from missions and sold, but other things appeared more unique and personal. Seggrit had merchandise he'd arrived with well before the Breach opened, but it seemed the longer he stayed in Haven, the more his inventory expanded. Some could be attributed to bartering, but there were far too many items of value laying on his shop's tables to have been sold to the merchant. To be frank, the man didn't have the coin to take on such pieces.

“Dangerous work you do,” Cullen began in a low voice, keeping his words from reaching passersby. “Under normal circumstances, I'd be appalled.”

Seggrit released a single laugh. “The merchant life isn't for everyone.”

“Or the scavenger's.”

The merchant stiffened momentarily, then tried to relax and laugh the comment off.

“I never see you leave Haven,” Cullen continued. “I take it you employ others to dig out possessions in the valley? Again, normally such tactics to stock your tables would be greatly frowned upon, but we are not exactly a nexus of trade roads at the moment and much of what you offer is needed. You're prices, for the most part, have been fair.”

Seggrit chanced a smile, hoping the conversation would continue favorably. “Thank you, Commander.”

“What I can absolutely _not_ abide, however, is the refusal to return lost items to their rightful owners.” Cullen closed the case, the central latch clicking into place. “The belligerent mockery of their claim.” His hands moved to the side strapping, looping them into their respective buckles. “The vehement denial of any wrong doing on your part.” He set the case upright, then leaned away slightly, daring the other man to snatch the item back. “As she no doubt explained to you, this harp belongs to Ebrisa, and I would see it returned to her.”

A few moments passed as Seggrit considered the commander's words and constructed his reply in a manner he hoped could still be beneficial. “I must still charge something, ser. You yourself said I am providing an invaluable service to the Inquisition and those I employ to extricate these abandoned goods do not come cheap.”

Cullen shifted his jaw, tempering his response. “You want a finder's fee?”

Seggrit nodded, feeling confident in his position. “I do. After all, with so many people at the Conclave, I'm still not certain this harp is the same one your woman misplaced.”

“Oh?” Cullen lifted his eyes, looking behind the merchant. “Ebrisa played the instrument for Leopold often. Why don't we ask him to identify it.”

Perched on the top of the village wall, looming over Seggrit's meager shop, was Leopold. He was wearing his fitted blanket with the addition of the recently completed scarf Belinda had helped Ebrisa make in their down time. The stitching was large and uneven, colors mismatched, and absolutely ridiculous looking. On the wyvern, with the beast snarling and spreading open its split lower mandible, it was the most horrifying piece of knitting Seggrit had ever seen.

The merchant swallowed his shriek of terror as the creature stared him down, looking quickly to the commander for protection and finding a similarly threatening expression on that face as well. Seggrit had forgotten about the enchanter's connection with the giant lizard, and finding himself trapped between two males that cared for the woman and could easily do him in, he had little choice but to concede. He raised a shaking finger and pointed down the pathway, trying his best to keep his voice from wavering as well. “I believe she went that way.”

Secured harp in hand, Cullen moved through the village to the healing cabin, concerned thoughts circling in his head once more. It was not the first time Ebrisa had gotten in an argument with someone in Haven, but she had always kept a cool head and a calm voice. Shouting to the point that she could be heard over the rhythmic clanging of swords in drills was more than surprising. The fact that she had run off, abandoned the conflict without resolution, was even more so. She was the diplomat in their relationship, she was the levelheaded one, and for Ebrisa to allow herself to appear so agitated in the public market had to do with a lot more than her missing harp.

Cullen paused at the clinic's door, knowing he couldn't leave her alone while she was so frazzled, but uncertain of what he could say to make things better. His lack of proper responses to her recent troubles was making him feel less and less like the person she needed. She had shut him out before, kept problems to herself that she deemed too personal to share, and with his inability to help ease the loss of her spirit friend, he found he couldn't fault her for doing so. Still, even if he had no idea what the right thing to do was, he knew he had to at least try.

That used to be enough, but he wasn't so certain these days.

He knocked once before entering, giving Ebrisa just enough warning to not be completely caught off guard. She was two steps away from her workbench when she saw him, her pleasant “healer smile”- used to put patients at ease - falling briefly into shame before she turned back to her table. “If you've come for that salve I promised, I'm afraid it's not ready yet.” She exhaled sharply, the breath filled with as much frustration as air. “I know I said it would be done by now, and I'm sorry. I've just... been less productive than I ought to be.”

“It's alright,” Cullen said in his best soothing tone. The woman tensed and he groaned inwardly. How had he messed up already?

“It's not alright. You need it.” She screwed her eyes shut and rubbed furiously at her forehead. “You need it for your aches but I messed up over and over and now you're in pain and I can't give you anything strong enough to help!”

He blinked dumbly at her, mouth parting to speak before he knew what would come out.

“It's my mistake,” Ebrisa cut in, not giving him the chance to find out, “why are you being punished for it?”

The commander set the instrument on the floor to free his hands, moving further into the room and closer to his partner. “You didn't make me leave the templars or stop taking lyrium, Ebrisa. Those were my choices and I am suffering the consequences. You aren't the cause of my pain.”

She refused to meet his eyes, still holding onto the blame. “Others are always paying for my mistakes.”

It clicked for him then that Ebrisa was referring to more than just his salve and the man glanced back to the encased harp sitting on the floor, recalling why Merrill had purchased it from her clan in the first place. From the moment the Starkhaven caravan was disrupted on the way to Kirkwall, Ebrisa had taken Vemara and Edan as her informal charges. Neither of their death's had been her fault or her doing, but that hadn't stopped Ebrisa from imagining it was true.

Before they left to join the Inquisition, Cullen and Ebrisa visited the elven child's gravesite on Sundermount and the enchanter poured out her inadequacies that lead to the mageling's end. Didn't help with the nightmares, didn't take it upon herself to tutor, didn't notice how tired Vemara was, didn't tell the templars her plan to calm the erratic casting. Didn't stop Leon. Cullen tried explaining to her then that she wasn't at fault, that she did what anyone else would, that she had no way of knowing what other people were thinking. She nodded, and he thought she understood. That apparently hadn't been the case.

“Ebrisa,” Cullen called softly, reaching out and taking her fidgeting hands in his own. “You can't blame yourself for what happened back in Kirkwall or here. You had no way of knowing what was going to happen with Renata – how could anyone know how anything would react to the Breach? There was nothing you could have done to help, because there was no precedent for what happened.” He released one hand to gently grip her chin, tilting up her head to finally meet his gaze. “You aren't at fault.”

“She wouldn't have been near the Breach if I wasn't there,” Ebrisa began quietly, though she didn't look away any more. “She's gone because of me.”

“She _existed_ because of you.” Soul of her aunt or compassionate spirit - Cullen didn't know who or what _Renata_ really was, but there was one thing he was certain of. “She cared for you a great deal, and wouldn't want you putting everything on your shoulders.” He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss to the woman's reddened forehead, her skin warm from the earlier rubbing. “I don't want you to either.”

The enchanter took her free hand and curled it against the back of Cullen's neck, keeping him from pulling away, and the man responded by tucking her head under his chin and draping a hand to her hip.

“I miss her.”

“I know.”

They stood in silence, listening to the other's breaths and heartbeats, realigning themselves from the stumbling Renata's death had sparked. The quiet was comforting and Ebrisa sighed softly as she soaked in Cullen's presence, the sound nudging his confidence back in the positive direction.

He craned his neck to look at the instrument near the door, the not quite subtle motion breaking him from Ebrisa's grasp and she leaned away, contact ended. “I must be keeping you from your duties. You're surely missed by now.”

“Perhaps not missed, but certainly noticed,” Cullen chuckled. “Regardless, I believe there's time for a song or two.”

Ebrisa furrowed her brow in confusion and he chuckled once again at the expression before moving away and retrieving the case from the floor. Her confusion lingered only a moment longer before the woman gasped loudly, failing to cover her mouth completely with her hand. She stood rooted to her spot, so the commander took it upon himself to remove the instrument from its sturdy casing and return it to its rightful owner.

She was speechless – surprise and embarrassment making coherent thought impossible. The weight settled into her hands as she took the time to examine the piece for damage her inspection earlier could have missed. After several minutes of roaming eyes and abandoned words, Ebrisa managed one question. “How?”

Cullen smiled softly, the right side of his mouth pulling just a bit higher as he took in the sight of the ecstatic and bewildered woman. “I heard Seggrit yelling and had a little discussion with the man concerning his supply lines. Suffice it to say, he came to understand his error.”

That was apparently not what Ebrisa wanted to hear. Her mood deflated and shoulders slumped, looking once again embarrassed and ashamed. “I yelled at the man, then you threaten him? That's not exactly behavior befitting a key figure of the Inquisition,” she mumbled.

“I didn't threaten him, per say,” Cullen drawled out, quickly running over his words with the merchant and seeking out any overly aggressive language. “And Leopold only looked at the man.”

That brought a single puff of muffled laughter from the woman and she smiled, despite herself. “Trapped between the commander and the wyvern, was he? No wonder Serrah Seggrit became so accommodating.”

Cullen nodded, his grin returned. “Leopold proved to be quite helpful with negotiations. Might I suggest he accompanies you on all future diplomatic ventures?”

“I will take that under advisement, Commander.”

Relieved to hear the jest back in her voice after so many days of gloom, Cullen let out a quiet hum. Perhaps he hadn't lost his touch after all. “Now then, fair lady, might I make a musical request?”

Ebrisa shook her head softly, grip loosening on the harp. “I'm sorry, love. I just can't play right now.”

He frowned lightly, kicking himself. “You aren't in the mood for merriment. I apologize for pushing so soon.”

“Its not that,” she assured. “The harp is horribly out of tune.”

“Oh, is that all?” The commander reached forward and trailed his knuckles lightly down Ebrisa's cheek. “Then something acapella, perhaps?”

“That,” Ebrisa began with a smile in her voice, “can be arranged.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet Maker, finally! Its so hard to find time to write now, but I am not giving up! I'm much slower, but I am pushing forward!


	17. Charge

It took a few days, but Ebrisa was able to return to her usual way of thinking. She let small mistakes go so they didn't turn into something big and kept herself from stacking blame upon her shoulders bit by bit so she wouldn't collapsed under the weight. She tended the wounded and ill with a patient smile, assisted Adan with tonic crafting, and was finally able to create a salve for Cullen. It was only her first completed attempt and she urged the commander for an honest appraisal. He knew better than to try and hide his pains from her, so when the medicated cream failed to soothe his deeper aches, Cullen told her.

Extreme conditions usually lead to hearty plants with hearty health benefits, but the snow-covered Frostbacks lacked variety in its flora. Elfroot was plentiful, but it wouldn't be enough, and Ebrisa had already used as much wyvern venom as was safe. Cullen didn't like her foraging too far from the village on her own, especially for his sake, so Ebrisa bundled up her scaled escort with his scarf and checked that the runes in his coat were still active before grabbing a basket and heading further into the trees then she ever had before.

Despite knowing the chances of discovering anything helpful were slim, Ebrisa was hopeful. As it currently stood, the majority of the herbs Haven had were gathered in the field during missions. While true that most of the bundles that made it to base were idly picked by soldiers on patrol or recruits standing watch in already secured areas, the rest were gathered by Carver himself. The Champion of Andraste went all over the map sealing rifts and tending to other vastly important matters. To have him playing gardener was a shame Ebrisa could not shake.

Leopold's screech cut through the air and Ebrisa's thoughts, the woman realizing only then that he was not at her side. She dropped her clippings and ran towards the sound, shouting voices and ringing metal now joining the wyvern's feral noises. Ebrisa broke into the small clearing with magic gathering in her hands, prepared to attack or defend if need be.

She skidded to a stop in the snow, starring at the large warrior wrestling with Leopold on the ground and ignoring the other people standing around arguing with themselves. Leopold was growling and snapping his teeth, clearly enraged and trying his best to maim – if not kill – his prey. The warrior was horned and gray-skinned, seemingly unbothered by the cold as he rolled around in the snow shirtless, thick arms circling around the wyvern's neck. He was Qunari. The first one Ebrisa had seen since the invasion at the Gallows. It had surprised her, but not as much as the fact that the warrior was laughing.

“Ebrisa, finally!” Carver called out in exasperation, forcing the woman to acknowledge the rest of the group. His was the only familiar face, the others agitated fighters with weapons drawn, and the sight of blades and bows pointed at the tumbling duo had Ebrisa snapping to attention once again.

“Leopold, let him go,” the enchanter ordered as firmly as she could manage with the shock still in her system. Cullen had said something about the Inquisition hiring on a mercenary group and that they would be returning with Carver, but he never mentioned their size or composition. Did he know they had a Qunari in their midst?

The wyvern reluctantly stopped his attempted assault, rising up to his full height and growling low in his throat to find the warrior still hanging on. Leopold whipped his head violently to the side, slipping the Qunari off and sending him tumbling across the clearing. The creature made a short growl, something Ebrisa recognized as a satisfied snort, and obediently returned to the woman's side. He lowered his head a little, presenting the space between his eyes to the enchanter.

He wanted a head pat for a job well done.

Ebrisa folded her arms, making it clear to the beast he was not to be rewarded for his actions, and only frowned at his pleading whine. “I thought you promised Cullen you'd stay at my side.”

Leopold dipped his head and pawed at the ground.

“Ah, take it easy on the guy!” The Qunari climbed to his feet and dusted off the bits of snow clinging to his harness.

“Chief, that thing came barreling out of nowhere to _kill_ you!” The fighter closest to Carver shouted, sounding more annoyed by the Qunari then the wyvern.

“Bah.” The Qunari slapped a hand threw the air dismissively and started towards the creature. Ebrisa couldn't help it, she flinched at his approach, and Leopold instantly picked up on the tension, snarling at the massive warrior once again. The Qunari paused, his single eye narrowing a fraction at the woman even as he laughed. He was studying her discreetly and Ebrisa might have missed it if not for the fact she'd become so used to being watched from the shadows in the Circle.

“Calm down, Leopold,” Ebrisa softly urged, rubbing a hand along the bridge of his nose to distract him from his ferocity. She looked the warrior over quickly, searching for wounds or venom remnants. A small smile tugged at her lips when she found the item in the warrior's hand. “He's just returning your scarf.”

Carver delivered the knitted piece to keep Leopold from acting out again, sighing tiredly and looking even more so. “This isn't how I thought this would go, but meet The Iron Bull and The Bull's Chargers.” He waved at the group with a sweep of his arm, catching most of them with the gesture. “They wanted to familiarize themselves with the area before heading to camp.”

Iron Bull, because who else in the group could be called that besides the Qunari, turned towards his men. “And I think we've seen enough to get a fair idea of what we're dealing with. Chargers, move out!” As the mercenaries began heading towards Haven, Iron Bull gave Ebrisa a quick once over before nodding at Carver. “Boss.”

_“Bas-saarebas.”_

For a moment, just a moment, she was back in the Gallow's courtyard – smoke in her lungs, rubble in her back, and ringing in her ears. A Qunari warrior painted in striking red picks her up by her throat, cutting off what little air she's getting, and lectures her on the uselessness of resisting. _“Are you not a 'dangerous thing'?”_

Ebrisa shook her head to rid it of the echoing voice. This Qunari – this Iron Bull – was nothing like the warriors who invaded her home all those years ago. To think of one while seeing the other was shameful and did a disservice to him and her. She groaned, hiding her face in her hands, and hoped she hadn't done something to effect the Inquisition's relationship with the mercenaries. “They probably think I sicked Leopold on him.”

“Did you?”

“Of course not!” Ebrisa threw down her hands and whipped around to face Carver, frowning two shades short of a pout when she saw his teasing smirk. “Don't make fun, its a legitimate concern!”

He chuckled and pressed his thumb between her eyes, rubbing the furrow from her brow. “I'll admit I haven't known them long, but the Chargers seem a pretty easy-going group. _If_ they took any offense, you can smooth it over with a pint. We'll be at the tavern later, if you're so bothered by it.”

She gently pushed his hand away and took the scarf. “I'll think about it.”

Carver nodded, watching silently for a bit as she looped the knitting around Leopold's neck. “What are you doing all the way out here anyways?”

Another groan, this one softer, left the woman before she began leading Leopold back to her abandoned supplies. “I was looking for herbs. Elfroot is all well and good, but I need something stronger. I had hoped to find herbs in the unexplored areas, but no such luck.”

“Considering how often you go foraging, I figured you've discovered all Haven has to offer.” Carver followed a little ways behind, scanning the ground despite his own comment. He snapped his fingers, remembering the contents of his saddlebag, and jogged up to walk beside the enchanter. “I found something in the Storm Coast you can have! Harding said it was... what was it? Andraste's crown?” He squinted at the tree branches. “That's not right...”

Ebrisa pursed her lips, running through herbs in her mind and trying to figure out what Carver could mean. “Prophet's laurel?”

“Yeah, that's it!” Carver gave her a cheeky grin and folded his arms proudly over his chest. “I killed a bunch of giant spiders to get it, so I knew the plant had to be useful. So how's about it? Was I right?”

Prophet's laurel was a rare and potent healing herb that could amplify the effectiveness of her recipe considerably. It was possibly the missing piece she had been searching for, but more than that, it sparked a memory for Ebrisa. On the Satinalia before she and Cullen had gotten together, the then knight-commander had kissed her beneath a sprig of the herb, mistaking it for mistletoe. At least, that was the hurried excuse Cullen had given while her lips tingled from the too brief contact.

Ebrisa blushed faintly at the memory and brought a gentle finger to her mouth, tracing the curve of her smile. “It's perfect.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
The tavern was far louder than normal when Ebrisa stepped inside, but looked no fuller than any other night. A boom of laughter sounded from the far corner, marking both the cause of the increased ruckus and the location of the Chargers. The company seemed at ease, despite the new setting, and Ebrisa felt just a little more confident that Carver had been right. Still, she'd rather not chance it. After all, she was close to the man who would be their main point of contact for mission assignments and friction between them – imagined or not – wouldn't do anyone any favors.

She ordered a round for the table before Carver spotted her and waved her over, not that she needed the direction. Sera had joined the group as well, eager to hear any story that knocked nobles down a peg, and sat backwards in a chair, tilting it away from the table as Iron Bull was finishing his tale. It ended just as Ebrisa approached, her arrival quieting the group's merriment. She felt their gazes on her, most of the Chargers neutral but Skinner and Krem eyed her suspiciously, at least she thought those were their names. Carver had told them to her on the way back to Haven with as best a description of each person as he could manage.

“It occurs to me that I failed to properly introduce myself earlier,” she began, standing at the head of the table near Sera's chair. “My name is Ebrisa and I am the Inquisition's head healer. If you have any injuries you'd like me to look at, please do not hesitate to stop by the clinic.” She motioned towards the door near them and nodded her head up and to the left for directions.

“Not likely,” Rocky, the dwarf, grunted as he looked into his empty tankard. “Stitches takes care of that for us.”

Ebrisa quickly scanned the group for the healer, looking for the features Carver had described earlier. “I'd like to have some of your time, serrah, when you've a moment. Compare notes, so to speak.”

“Can't make any promises, miss,” Stitches slowly replied, as though confused by the request. “I just go when and where they tell me.”

The enchanter brightened a little at his accent, her excitement pushing her forward. “You are Fereldan! You're first hand knowledge of local flora would be immensely helpful. I find that books often overlook the lesser known herbs so common to the people.”

The confusion morphed into amusement, the man dipping his head and shaking with a silent laugh. “I'll see what I can do.”

A hand slammed onto the table, startling Sera enough to almost fall backwards, arm flailing in the air until Ebrisa caught it and helped right the archer. Krem starred down his group, disapproving frown in place. “Are you forgetting about her wyvern? The thing tried to take the Chief's head off!”

The drinks arrived with impeccable timing, granting Ebrisa the buffer she needed from the tension as she helped Flissa distribute the tankards. “I do apologize for Leopold's behavior. I have no idea what came over him.” The latter was only partially true. While she had no evidence to support it, Ebrisa suspected Duke Prosper had trained Leopold to attack Qunari on sight. The man had used a lure to select specific targets from a crowd, so there was no real way of knowing what else Prosper had taught the wyvern while in his _care_. Such ingrained behavior would take time to correct.

That brought a new worry to her mind. The Chargers had contracts in Orlais, meaning they likely knew the story of Prosper's death. After all, the Duke de Montfort could not just die during a high society event unnoticed. Hawke's cover story had put the blame solely on Leopold and, while Ebrisa had not _stolen_ the wyvern, he did technically belong to the new duke. The chance of Leopold being slain by Cyril's men on sight was so high it might as well not be chance at all, and she would never allow the risk.

“I know what got into him,” Iron Bull began in a low rumble, Ebrisa bracing for the accusation. “Pure instinct. Qunari are rumored to have dragon blood in our veins and the big guy picked up on it. Simple as that.”

The enchanter tried not to stare. She had certainly not considered that possibility, if it even _was_ a possibility.

“But you sure got that guy well handled,” Bull continued, ignoring the exasperated sigh of his lieutenant beside him. “Do you think you're charms could work on the really big ones?”

She bristled just a little, offended by the notion that magic was the source of her relationship with the wyvern. “I've cast no spell on Leopold.”

“I didn't say _the_ charms, I said _your_ charms.” The Qunari took a deep swig from his new tankard, buying the woman time to process his words. “Just imagine: riding a dragon into battle, your enemies scattering like rats as you swoop in.”

“I don't know about swooping, but Ebrisa does ride Leopold when she leaves Haven.” Carver swished his own tankard, watching the foam circle the rim and threatening to spill out.

The Chargers looked at her with more interest then they'd shown before and Ebrisa wondered if that had been Carver's intention. “It was only once,” she mumbled, feeling her cheeks warm from the attention.

“Thought only Orlesian's knew how to ride wyverns. Use these fancy, gaudy saddles and loads of harnesses. Didn't see any in the stables.” Krem tilted his head, intrigued or skeptical, Ebrisa couldn't tell which.

She laughed awkwardly. “No saddle. It was certainly an experience.”

“I'll bet. Come, sit!” Bull laughed and slid to the side, patting the table. Ebrisa had only planned to clear the air with the company and be on her way. Cullen was stuck in the war room reviewing pending missions and assessing where the Chargers might be best utilized. They had promised to eat together once he finished, but she wouldn't be hard to find.

Ebrisa sat down by the leader, hugging the edge of the bench and feeling incredibly small next to his massive frame. Once she was settled, he spoke again.

“Bet living in the Gallows during the Mage Rebellion was an experience, too.” He paused, looking down at her with an unreadable glint in his eye. “The invasion, even more so.”

Air caught in her throat as she momentarily forgot to breathe. Had Carver told him about her past experience with Qunari in an attempt to make her apology easier to accept? It felt a bit like a betrayal if true, and in the event that the warrior already knew her life story, Ebrisa decided to be completely honest.

“I was with the healing support team when the Qunari attacked.” She took a quiet breath and lowered her eyes to the table. “I noticed a group approaching the barred entrance to the eastern dock, but everyone else was too busy. I saw the Qunari with these barrels and I couldn't just let them be used so I... set them on fire and-”

Iron Bull threw his head back, howling with laughter. “That was you?! We'd gotten a few reports from the unsanctioned invasion, but I always thought that one about the human mage blowing themselves up to take out the second wave was fake!”

“You what?” Sera leaned forward, moving her drink to the side for an unobstructed view of the enchanter. “You exploded on purpose?”

“I didn't know it would blow up!” Ebrisa defended, now feeling embarrassed by the once frightening memory. “There had been an attack using Qunari poisonous gas not that long beforehand, and I was concerned they were trying to flank the templars with it.”

Bull's laughter calmed to chuckling and he wiped a tear from his eye. “The report said you took out the entire squad on your own. You were the embodiment of saarebas, and that is _badass_.” He turned to the far end of the table and raised his hand. “Grim, toss me the maraas-lok from my pack.”

“I'm pretty sure that's not what _saarebas_ means,” Carver said with a slow grin.

“No,” Bull admitted as the silent man handed over a flask. “But this little firebug here is absolutely one in my book.” He grabbed an empty tankard from the center of the table, tapping it out over another to ensure no ale remained, and poured out some of the strong smelling liquid into it. “Here.” He pushed the tankard into Ebrisa's hands, grinning widely.

“What is this?” She felt her eyes sting from the vapors and winced.

“A traditional Qunari beverage,” Bull answered calmly, pouring some into his own empty vessel. “To being badass!” He held his tankard out towards Ebrisa and waited for her to join him.

The entire purpose of coming to the tavern was to ease any tension she may have caused between the Inquisition and the Chargers. Fearing that refusing the drink might be viewed as an insult to Iron Bull or his culture, Ebrisa timidly clinked her tankard with his. It wasn't a large amount of liquid and, judging from the smell, it wasn't going to taste very good. She could feel the eyes of everyone at the table watching her and the longer she sat there holding the drink, the more anxious she became. Ebrisa grit her teeth, took a steadying breath, and tipped the tankard back all the way, swallowing the maraas-lok as quickly as possible to reduce the amount of time it spent on her tongue.

She had never immediately regretted a decision more in her life.

Everything the liquid touched burned and Ebrisa's throat clenched too late to prevent the substance from reaching her empty stomach. She dropped the tankard and latched onto the edge of the table, coughing so violently that she slipped from the bench and fell to the floor, one hand still squeezing the planked wood now laying above her. The others burst into laughter, Sera cackling delightedly after checking that the enchanter hadn't hit her head on anything.

“That wasn't meant to be a shot.” Iron Bull then took a swig from his own tankard, laughing through the coughs that followed.

“Is she going to be okay?” Carver asked warily, concerned by the fact that the Qunari hadn't chugged it all at once like the small woman had. “What's in that stuff?”

“Not a clue,” Bull admitted with a grin. “All that matters is its far stronger than the swill you have on tap here.”

Sera took another mouthful of ale, holding it for an extended moment before swallowing. “Stuff tastes fine to me.”

“For the only tavern on top a mountain? Yeah, its okay.” Bull glanced behind him to watch Flissa taking orders. “Meant no disrespect to the barkeep. She's only got so much to work with out here.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Carver waved his hands, realization sinking in. “You gave her _alcohol_?”

“Well we normally toast badassery with apple juice, but you guys were clean out,” Krem said sarcastically, plopping an elbow on the table and resting his chin in his hand.

The Champion winced, looking over to the spot Ebrisa had once occupied and taking a small comfort in the absence of her coughs. He furrowed his brow and ducked his head to try and see under the table, wondering why the woman hadn't gotten off the floor yet.

Ebrisa popped up suddenly, then swayed from the dizzying action. “For future reference, I would have preferred the juice.” She climbed back into her seat, face flushed, and pushed the offending tankard even further away from herself.

“I'll keep that in mind,” Bull chuckled after finishing his own drink. “For future reference, you don't have to drink something just because someone asks you to.”

“I didn't want to be rude! I was already rude to you today,” Ebrisa explained with a mild pout. “I can't afford to be rude, because it will make Cullen look bad and that makes the Inquisition look bad.”

Carver groaned, slapping a hand over his eyes. “Maker's Balls, please tell me she isn't already drunk.”

“Maraas-lok is pretty potent stuff,” Stitches answered, a hint of sympathy in his voice. “I'll make her something for the morning. It won't be enough, but it will keep her on feet and away from the privy.”

“We appreciate it.”

Undeterred by her intoxicated state, or perhaps because of it, Bull leaned closer to Ebrisa and began asking her questions. “Now why would you make the commander look bad?”

“I wouldn't do it on purpose,” Ebrisa huffed.

“Of course not. But how do your actions effect how he's perceived?”

The woman blushed, giggling behind a hand before answering. “Because we're in love. I know what you're thinking, a mage and templar can't be together, but he's not a templar, he's _Cullen_. And even when he _was_ a templar, the Divine said it was okay!” She paused, mood turning somber. “That's not enough for most people, though. Divine Justinia was the Maker's voice, and her word still wasn't enough.”

“Don't be like that, Brisly,” Sera cooed, oddly gentle towards the enchanter. “Don't let what other people think get ya down. If he makes you happy, that's what matters, yeah?”

“Yeah! Exactly!” Ebrisa brightened in an instant, straightening up on the bench and grinning at the archer. “I know I make things hard for him sometimes, but I wouldn't leave Cullen for anything.”

“I'll bet you make his thing hard sometimes,” Sera snickered.

The enchanter stilled, blinked twice, then gasped into her hand. “Sera! That was dirty! That's not a polite thing to discuss in public.”

“Pssh, whatever, _Mum_.” Sera tilted her chair again, pretending like she hadn't just done her best to cheer up a sad drunk. “This is a _tavern_ , Brisly. Tits and dicks are common topics.”

Ebrisa clicked her tongue, turning to the nearest person for assistance. “Ser The Iron Bull, do you find that to be the case?” She leaned in a little, darting her eyes to Sera and silently asking the Qunari to back her up.

“Absolutely,” Bull said with a grin. “Tits, ass, all that shit is fair game here.”

Despite having just heard it from Sera, Ebrisa gasped again. “Ser The Iron Bull, would your mother approve of such language?”

The Qunari shrugged, unphased. “Can't say. There are no mothers under the Qun.”

“What?” The woman gentled her expression, frowning slightly. “That's so sad. Do you want one?”

He chuckled at her drunken antics and wondered how much she truly meant any of the things she was saying. “Why? Are you offering?”

The Chargers laughed at the perplexed look on the enchanter's face, slowly quieting until one of them spoke. “Give the poor shem a break, ser,” Dalish sighed. “You'd be a bit of a handful.”

Iron Bull turned to face the not-mage, quip on his tongue, but stopped when he felt the hand on his arm.

“I don't really have experience with this, but I'll do it.” Ebrisa looked up at the much larger and likely older person, smile timid but eyes determined. “I'll be your mother. Everyone should have one for at least a little while.” Her eyes left his for a moment, smile turning sad. “I should embrace these sorts of opportunities.” Then just like that, she was beaming again, waiting for the Qunari's approval.

Carver looked at the odd scene before him, wondering if it would have been better to escort Ebrisa back to her room as soon as he realized her drunken state. Sure, she'd settled matters with the company and gotten to know them a little better, but at some point she had started to embarrass herself. He had failed to step in, like a real friend would have, and depending on how much Sera and the Chargers decided to tease her in the future, Ebrisa might be slow to forgive him.

Iron Bull looked around the group, studying their reactions to the proposition he hadn't honestly meant. Turning his focus back to the enchanter, he gave the only answer he knew would keep the gentle smile on her face.

“Yeah, okay.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My master document corrupted while I was working on this chapter, meaning I had to start all over. Thats okay though. I feel it went much better the second time.


	18. Release

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, here it is. My first bit of nsfw stuff. Or, kinda nsfw? If the idea offends you, skip the third scene.

When Ebrisa woke up, it was in stages. Her senses slowly came to her one by one, each feeling muffled and fuzzy. After a few moments, she realized the cause of this was the furs piled on top of her and she sat up straight to push them away. Pain shot through her head in an agonizing throb as she blinked against the brightness of early dawn, one hand flying to her temple as the other aided her twist off the pallet. She was in Cullen's tent, clothed and alone, and feeling far sicker then she ever had before.

There was a canteen of water on the floor beside her, as well as a basin and washcloth, and next to those was a bucket. She couldn't tell if it had been used or not and the thought of Cullen not only witnessing her vomit but cleaning her up after had her groaning all on its own. Pushing the nausea to the side as best she could, Ebrisa pulled on her boots, straightened her clothes, and slowly crossed the partition into Cullen's office as she drank the water he'd left her.

She nearly dropped the container when she saw the commander asleep at his desk in full armor with only the addition of a single blanket around his shoulders for warmth. He'd tried to pillow his head in his arms, but vambrace made poor substitutes and during his slumber the man had shifted to resting his cheek against the rough planks of wood that made up his “desk”. His tall body curled up against the rickety table while Ebrisa had spread out on his warm bed. It was unfair and wrong on several levels.

As she stood there wondering if she should rouse him so he could move to the pallet, Cullen stirred awake with a rumbling groan of pain to rival Ebrisa's own. He sat up stiffly, back and joints protesting the movement and a grimace on his tired face accented by the impression of wood grain. Stretching did little to ease the discomfort, but he did so anyways, catching sight of the woman beside him as he tried to pop his neck.

“You slept here the whole night.” It wasn't a question, but the inflection in Ebrisa's voice made her confusion evident.

Cullen stood from the hard chair, biting back a hiss at the pins and needles sensation running down his legs. “You were quite drunk when I found you last night. I didn't want to leave you alone in your inebriated state.”

“You left me alone in your bed.”

He paused his stretching to frown, brow furrowing above bleary eyes. “I couldn't trust myself alone with you.”

Ebrisa sighed softly in response.

“If I'd done that again while you were in such a susceptible state, Maker only knows what could have happened.” Cullen stepped away from the desk and paced a little, partially to get the blood flowing in his legs again and partially so he wouldn't have to see the expression on Ebrisa's face. “This seemed the best arrangement.”

The woman, despite feeling like a _mind blast_ was going off internally, managed to toss the commander a coy smile. “While your chivalrous actions were well intended and well received, I'm afraid I must argue.”

Cullen ceased his circular steps and faced her with a hesitant curiosity. He knew she did not hold him responsible for what he'd done in his sleep all those nights ago, but she had always accepted his need to take some blame and make amends for it.

“I'll remind you, my dear commander, that my quarters has several vacant cots that you might have used.”

In his haste to separate Ebrisa from the mercenaries who'd gotten her drunk and the flick of anger that rose in him when their leader called out _“Good night, hot Momma”_ , Cullen had completely forgotten. The healing cabin was closer, but the need to protect her from roaming eyes told him to take her to his tent. Ebrisa had giggled along the way, clinging to his arm with both her own and cooing repeatedly about how much she loved him. It was nice to see her so happy and relaxed after the pain she'd gone through and it was very tempting to stand still and accept the multitude of kisses she offered, but he also knew that the longer she had to sleep off whatever it was she'd been given, the better she'd feel in the morning.

“That is true,” Cullen mumbled slowly, feeling more than a little foolish from playing the martyr unnecessarily. “I'll have to remember that the next time you go drinking with the Chargers.”

Ebrisa let out a single, uneasy laugh. “That will only happen if they have apple juice.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Minaeve wasn't that much younger than Ebrisa, but had never been more than an apprentice in the Circle. The elf had magic, but no talent for it, and watched her peers move up and go through the Harrowing while she stayed the same, but she wasn't bothered by it. The senior enchanters had better things to do then repeat lessons that were going nowhere, so Minaeve found her own busy work. She spent her later days in the tower reading books about the outside world, especially enjoying beastiaries and other encyclopedias. Wild creatures were frightening, but somehow learning how a bear's claw was connected to its paw made the idea of getting mauled a little less deadly. Not that she was eager to put that knowledge into practice herself.

She kept up her research after Cassandra recruited her, turning her hobby into an actual position that aided the Inquisition. She took every odd and end submitted seriously – bow string, demonic ichor, fangs – and studied it diligently, seeking out advantages the soldiers might utilize. Recently, Minaeve discovered that the shades roaming the storm coast didn't have the same infectious coating covering their claws – at least not as high a concentration. She developed a theory, tested it, and sent the information along once proven correct. The results of her work were seen almost immediately.

“The number of infections have really gone down, thanks to you,” Ebrisa said with a smile. She's been so amazed when squads returned from missions with field treated wounds that hadn't turned yellow, that she went to give thanks in person as soon as time allowed. “Rinsing claw wounds with salt water. For such a dangerous concern, you found a rather simple solution.” Ebrisa paused for a short giggle at the unintended pun.

“Thank you, ma'am,” Minaeve mumbled awkwardly. She glanced to Josephine across the room, hoping the ambassador had some question or missive that would pull the blonde away. “Just doing my duty.”

Ebrisa looked at her a little longer, tapping her thumb against her clasped hands as she debated whether or not to continue. The enchanter straightened, decision made, and took a discrete breath. “If you don't mind me saying, I also very much appreciate what you've done for the Tranquil.”

Minaeve didn't bother to hide her confusion, but kept her questions to herself.

“I heard from Ca- from _the Champion_ that you safe guarded a group of Tranquil when your Circle fell. Serrah Gaelynn was one of your charges, was she not?”

“Oh, um, yes, she was.” Minaeve frowned, but tried to keep the annoyance from her voice. “I'm certain she was very useful in making those runes for you, _First Enchanter_.” The title had more of a bite to it then she intended, a fact further solidified by Josephine shaking her head in the background.

Ebrisa wasn't angered or offended by the disrespect - she'd heard much worse. Part of the downside of being singled out by Divine Justinia was that strangers felt they had a right to her personal decisions. Her thoughts and actions were analyzed and questioned, people seeking ulterior motives and imagined agendas. After being in the public eye for so long, Ebrisa learned to ignore comments like that altogether.

“Everyone keeps talking about mages and templars, but they forget we weren't the only ones living in the Circles.” Ebrisa's eyes shifted to the side, expression dropping for a moment. “The Tranquil aren't helpless, but it's far too easy for them to be taken advantage of. As much as many mages are ill-equipted for a life outside the Circle, the Tranquil are even more unprepared. It was good of you to look after as many as you did.”

She had done all she could to prepare the Tranquil to continue on without her when she left Kirkwall. All of them had skills that could translate to work outside the Gallows, but that didn't mean someone would hire them. The emotionless Tranquil made most people uneasy, which was a primary reason for Formari handling the Circle's wares, and it would be difficult for even the most talented to find gainful employment with the common folk. Ebrisa wondered if the Chantry in Kirkwall had absorbed her healers into their ranks, or pushed them out of the clinics they had worked so hard to set up. It had been too long since she spared a thought for the life she left behind and the guilt was starting to get to her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Given the way Cullen had slept the night prior, Ebrisa wasn't surprised to to hear he was in pain. What concerned her, however, was the fact that he'd sent a runner with a note to fetch her instead of coming to the clinic himself. The man always tried to put on a brave face, determined to not show weakness in front of the troops, and risking his charade of endless fortitude being discovered was not something he'd do lightly. It was important to him that he looked in control.

Ebrisa grabbed the recently upgraded salve and headed straight for his tent, taking care to slow her pace from the run her heart wanted to do. Her journey through Haven was brisk and she took a moment to reel herself back in before entering Cullen's quarters. Right now, Cullen was her patient, and she needed to project an air of confidence and competence to put him at ease. If the healer was panicking, then the patient would only become more concerned.

“Commander? I received your message,” she announced as she stepped through the tent flaps.

Cullen visibly relaxed upon the sight of her, letting go of his rigidity and slumping against his chair with a muted groan. He looked far worse than she feared, dark bags under his eyes and skin paler than usual. The handkerchief tucked into his tunic let her know he had been doing his best to remove the sweat from his face before his subordinates could see, but now that it was just the two of them, he let the building drops chart their downward path. “I'm not pulling you from something important, am I?”

She smiled sympathetically, brow creasing as she moved to his side. “More important than tending to my favorite patient? Of course not.” Ebrisa brushed his loosening curls from his forehead and pressed a kiss to his skin, uncertain if she should be relieved that he didn't have a fever when sweats were an obvious issue. “You've excellent timing. I've only just transferred the new salve from the cook pot.”

“That is lovely news from a lovely source,” he sighed, a smile tugging at his lips despite the pain shooting through his muscles.

Ebrisa giggled softly in response, encouraging the man to his feet. “I'll help you apply it, if you don't mind the assistance.”

“Maker, _yes, please_.” Cullen stood up stiffly and began removing his armor. “I don't think I could reach on my own.”

“Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere.”

The armor gone and set aside, the pair crossed the partition for privacy. Ebrisa helped Cullen remove his shirt and instructed him to get on the pallet while she opened the jar. He practically thudded on the barely padded surface, having no need for pretense, and settled on his stomach with a muffled groan of pain. This was not the first time Ebrisa had given him a massage, but they usually did so with him sitting up. The fact that he all but collapsed flat onto his bedding spoke volumes for how bad this particular spell was.

The woman hiked up her skirts and climbed onto the pallet after him, studying the arrangement for a moment before straddling his hips for the best access to his back. She started with a small amount of the salve and worked it up and down Cullen's spine, hearing him hiss at the initial burning sensation but not pausing in the least. Her thumbs moved in slow circles down the center of his back, then pressed firmly on either side of the spinal column and slid all the way up to the turn of his neck. She systematically took more cream in hand and worked the muscle groups in his back, spreading the tingling burn of Leopold's venom where it was needed and massaged each area thoroughly until the salve was completely absorbed.

The pain had lessened considerably, leaving Cullen with only the sensation of Ebrisa's fingers pressing firmly into his flesh and her palms sliding across his body. “Thank you,” he mumbled into the blanket his face was buried in, feeling more relaxed than he thought possible given the excruciating pain he had started the afternoon with.

“Over,” Ebrisa instructed suddenly.

“Over?” He repeated back, confused by the direction.

She bit back her giggle at the dazed, lazy way he spoke and pulled her healer persona back on. “Yes, turn over onto your back so I can get the rest of you.” Ebrisa raised up straight on one knee and leaned to the side, supporting most of her weight there and using her other foot for balance to give Cullen adequate room to move. “Come on,” she coaxed, patting his side encouragingly.

Cullen twisted on the covers, turning over and catching the edge of Ebrisa's skirt as he rolled, pulling her off balance. She fell with a squeak, pelvis smashing into his stomach and barely catching herself with her hands against the blankets just short of smothering his head. He held in the exclamation of surprise and pain, reducing it to a grunt that still made Ebrisa scramble up and back.

“Oh, Cullen, I'm so sorry! Are you alright?” She was careful to not touch his face, afraid of getting the salve in his eyes, and stroked her fingers through his hair instead.

He was quiet, looking down to where Ebrisa now rested against him and then back up to her concerned face and swallowed discreetly. “Fine. I'm fine.”

The woman nodded slowly, wondering if she hadn't actually aggravated something, then went back to her intended task. The salve clung to Cullen's chest hair on the first pass, making the barely noticeable strands stand out and Ebrisa found herself massaging much slower just to watch the hair disappear. She worked in sections, as before, and waited in anticipation for more hair to reveal itself before she smoothed it back out of sight. Ebrisa had touched Cullen's torso before, had felt the soft dusting of hair across the hard plains of his muscles, but watching them wax and wane in visibility fascinated her. It was like a secret only she knew, a thing only she got to see, and her touch shifted from the firm, clinical massaging to soft, sensual stroking.

She slid back a little further, trying to follow the line of darkening hair running down his abs, and gasped as the apex of her thighs brushed against something firm and warm, the man beneath her groaning at the same time. The contact was brief, but sent a pleasant shiver through her body, one she wanted to feel again. Color rushed to Ebrisa's cheeks as she realized what she'd done and her eyes fell to Cullen's face, searching for any sign of discomfort. His amber eyes were wide and darkened, searching her with just as much concern. Slowly, ever so slowly, Ebrisa moved again, holding eye contact with Cullen as she rolled her hips, dragging her smalls against his confined erection.

He moaned her name when she pulled away only to suck the breath back in as she rocked against him more firmly, her heat seeping through the fabric between them. Cullen slid his hands under her skirts and up her thighs, caressing the softness of her skin, and wrapped one hand loosely around her hip. She stilled at the touch, fearing she had done something wrong and Cullen was trying to stop her, but the man tugged her hips forward, guiding her into a motion he met with his own hips that had them both gasping.

A warm, tingling sensation that had nothing to do with the salve on her hands took over Ebrisa's body as she ground against Cullen. That warmth grew into a flaring heat as the hand that had been stroking her thigh moved to her rear, squeezing the round flesh there and wringing a breathy moan out of her that Cullen answered with a whimpering groan. Ebrisa felt her core begin to tighten, the point in which panic usually overtook her, but she didn't halt her movements. Though he had both hands on her, encouraging her to move in certain ways, she still had a sense of control. If she wanted – if she _needed_ – Ebrisa could easily stop what she was doing and climb off. She could leave, and knowing that made her want to stay as long as possible.

“Ebrisa,” Cullen murmured her name like a prayer, his voice a caress up her spine. “Ebrisa...”

She didn't respond with words, grinding into his thrusts at an increased pace and intensity as everything else in the world faded away. Her focus was entirely on Cullen – on the flush of his skin, on the dew of sweat across his furrowed brow, on the heaving of his chest as he gasped in air and groaned it back out. Ebrisa ignored the chaffing the rough stitching of Cullen's breeches rubbed into her thighs. She ignored the painful tightness twisting inside her and what it meant. She ignored the ripples of sensation that reverberated through her each time her throbbing center met his straining hardness. The only thing that mattered was Cullen.

Ebrisa panted through parted lips as she watched Cullen move beneath her, his eyes half-lidded and just as determined to watch her as she was him. It was intoxicating to see the big, strong, commander in such an open state of bliss and knowing she had been the one to get him there. “Cullen,” she gasped, after a particularly wonderful thrust had hit her in just the right spot and the tightness tried to block out her vision. Ebrisa pushed it back, moving more determinedly and dragging a deep groan from the man. “Cullen,” she panted, trying to remind herself why she should keep going, even if just for a little longer. Her movements began to falter, but Cullen guided her through it, watching her intently and murmuring words of encouragement she couldn't hear over the blood rushing in her ears. “ _Cullen, Cullen, Cul_....” His name died on her tongue, replaced by a noise that was a mixture between a scream and a moan as the pressure inside her finally snapped. It was like nothing she'd experienced before – every inch of her skin felt like it was on fire, electricity ran through her veins, and her vision was overtaken with a blinding whiteness. It was euphoric and left her breathless and after what felt like forever, she slowly came back down.

At some point she had slumped over, not able to hold herself up, and Cullen sat up to secure her in his arms. He peppered her face and neck with kisses as she recovered, softly calling to her. “Ebrisa? How do you feel?”

“I...” she blinked a few times, trying to reacquaint herself to reality. “What happened?”

“I do believe,” he paused to give her cheek another kiss, “you just came.”

“Came?” Ebrisa repeated back in confusion, then a beat later pushed Cullen away and tried to scramble off his lap. “Oh! Oh, Cullen, I am so sorry! I didn't mean to- I never – I shouldn't have-” She cut off the words with a firm hand over her mouth, her body now awash with shame as she felt the wetness soaking her smalls.

Cullen let her climb off him but caught her hand before she could even think of running away. “Why are you apologizing?”

“Because I took advantage of you,” Ebrisa choked out, working hard to keep tears from forming. “You asked me here because you were in pain, not able to focus. One of the properties of the salve is increased blood flow, so its only natural that it would cause an erection – Maker, I am so stupid to have not considered that. I gave you artificial stimulation and then- then- _humped_ you like a cat in heat to meet my own satisfaction.” She shook her head furiously, trying to pull her hand free. “All those times we tried to... and then I just... Maker, what is wrong with me?”

Cullen gave her a firm tug, pulling her back to him. She fell against his chest with a soft _oof_ and was immediately secured in his warm arms. “Nothing is wrong with you, Ebrisa, and there was nothing artificial about my arousal.”

“But I-”

“I get erections around you often enough to recognize what natural ones feel like,” he teased, though blushing at the admission. “You are forgetting how you touched me, how you looked at me, how you said my name as you experienced your first orgasm.”

“But you-”

“Encouraged you to ride me,” Cullen filled in the apparent hole in her memory. “I wanted to see you writhing on top of me, wanted to hear what sounds you'd make, I wanted you to finally allow yourself to come undone.”

Ebrisa blushed, squeezing her thighs together to hide the already hidden slickness of her pleasure. “Well... if you're certain...” She looked up at him, suddenly realizing something. “I finished, but you – um, do you need...?”

The man flushed and looked away in embarrassment. “I – that is – no. I've been anticipating your release so much that when you did so on top of me, crying out my name... I'm afraid I followed.”

“Oh...” She looked away and tried to keep her eyes to herself, but they inevitably drifted to the front of Cullen's pants where the evidence of their mutual satisfaction darkened the fabric. Ebrisa was certain she should feel ashamed for causing the staining of the commander's clothing inside and out, but was instead struck with an odd sense of pride. Before she averted her gaze again, Ebrisa noticed small wounds on the commander's stomach that hadn't been there before. She touched one gently, making Cullen flinch at the contact. “They're fresh.”

He looked down to the scratches, having failed to notice them himself. He chuckled at her concern, waving it away. “Must have happened when you finished.”

Ebrisa retracted her hand immediately, surprised by both the comment and the easy way he'd said it. “I hurt you? Oh, love, I didn't mean to. I'll take care of it right away.” She began to gather the healing energy into her hands, but released it when Cullen tugged on her wrist.

“If you don't mind, I'd like to keep it.” He smiled sheepishly, though it bordered on a smirk. “Having something physical, even for a little while, to go with the memory of you on top of me would be greatly appreciated.”

“I... I suppose,” Ebrisa mumbled. It felt a little wrong to leave wounds she'd caused untreated, but then the woman recalled how she hadn't wanted to heal the love bites Cullen had given her before she left for the Fallow Mire. Perhaps he liked being marked by her, too.

Remembering her initial purpose, Ebrisa cleared her throat and tried to find her professionalism. “Let me know how the salve works out, Commander.”

He climbed off the pallet, rising to his full height to tower over the woman, and nodded. “I'm afraid these first results may be skewed, but I'll be sure to keep you updated in the future.”

“Very good.” Ebrisa nodded as well, though she didn't know why. “I'll be going now.” She turned to leave and give Cullen privacy to change or clean up or whatever it was he had to do, but he caught her hand before she got more than a step away.

He leaned down and drew her into a kiss, slow and consuming. When Cullen pulled away, she blindly chased after his departed lips before blinking her eyes open. He smiled at her once again, expression warm and adoring. “I love you.”

“And I love you.”

When Ebrisa finally stepped out of the commander's tent, albeit a little dazed, she noticed there was no one around. It appeared, for all intents and purposes, that every soldier and recruit were standing further away then they normally did and all of them facing the frozen lake. She found it very odd and wondered if perhaps Cullen had confided in Rylen about his pains and the Starkhavener had pulled the others away so their commander might get enough quiet to rest. Satisfied with the explanation, Ebrisa headed back for the village gates.

“So, Tama,” Iron Bull called out once Ebrisa had reached the steps. He grinned as she turned to him, the woman unconsciously responding to and accepting the nickname. “Do all of your house calls come with happy endings?”

She furrowed her brow in confusion, not understanding the questions. When Bull tilted his head at Cullen's tent not so far away and gave her a knowing smile, realization set in. Realization and horror.

The Qunari had heard, and possibly the soldiers too. The army had the decency to at least _pretend_ they were unaware and afford the couple some semblance of privacy, but the mercenary had no such reservations. Ebrisa was beyond flustered as she tried to think of a response, wondering if she could convince the large warrior that what he heard had been anything other than what it really was.

“Ah,” Bull said at length, “VIP patient only. Understood.” He chuckled and returned to setting up his tent. “Makes sense that the commander gets special treatment.”

“Yes, well,” Ebrisa mumbled, face surprisingly only faintly warm, “he is a special man.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah. ah. ah. This is so weird. I wrote that part months and months ago (only adding to the beginning and end of the last scene so it flowed)  
> Its my first attempt at anything erotic and, as far as erotica goes, isn't graphic. This is called frottage, I believe. Do I need to update tags now?


End file.
